


Breaking Things into Pieces

by mentalismmaria



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Asphyxiation, Body Horror, Burns, Fanart, Gore, Magic, Mind Control, Necromancy, Self-Mutilation, Shivering Isles, Torture, holes in canon shamelessly filled in with Extreme Headcanoning, non-canon family members, titlecards included, yes those also have blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 06:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6644821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mentalismmaria/pseuds/mentalismmaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Student mage Relmyna Verenim has an obsession she cannot describe to her peers, forcing her to lead a double life to pursue her macabre ideas through the years. She feels like she's on the cusp of a revelation, one that is put in jeopardy as a Daedric Prince begins to take interest in her increasingly grotesque work.</p><p>[UPDATE: i've added the titlecards ive been posting to tumblr whenever i update this, so now you get nice (bloody) pictures too!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1 [severe burns]

**Author's Note:**

> here's something a little different than my usual fare, explicit because of its graphically violent content rather than straight-up porn. remember! Dead Dove; Do Not Eat. i'll put content warnings in chapter titles when needed.

Darvame Verenim, on her death bed and disgraced from her house, sent her daughters to Cyrodiil in the early days of the third era. Relmyna had known only the volcanic rock formations and emperor parasols of Azura’s Coast before then, living well in the Telvanni tower in Sadrith Mora. Her mother was a retainer for Master Neloth and a healer of considerable skill, before unrest within the house and a few position usurpations had her caught in the crossfire. Quite literally. These things happen, and in House Telvanni they’re met with less sympathy than other places in Morrowind. Looking back, Relmyna could see where that attitude towards the lives of others sunk in for her.

Relmyna was still a child when she and her sister, Llathise, found themselves in Cheydinhal. Darvame’s brother offered to take them in, more out of hope that it could get him a place back in Telvanni than out of actual familial duty. He served openly in the Mages Guild; something Relmyna was repulsed by at first, coming from her upbringing, but she quickly found that her family’s status meant very little on this side of the border. Most mages in the Guild barely recognized what House Telvanni actually was. With that, she could disappear in their ranks, and over the years she built up a new life.

Llathise, several years her sister’s junior, relied heavily on Relmyna in the years since. She took the move harder than her older sister did, and took the displacement from Telvanni even worse. How was she going to become a dignified and powerful mage now, with her own tower, and her own servants? How was she going to accomplish anything under these Imperial rules and Guild restrictions? Relmyna was less concerned with things like that; she was older, and could consider herself more mature, but she didn’t have her future set in stone as Llathise did. She didn’t feel like she had anything that concrete in her life, really.

Cheydinhal didn’t have a very large guildhall, but it was serviceable, and the head mage over there knew Relmyna’s uncle and agreed to let the girls finish their schooling there, as novices. Relmyna didn’t like the company she had to keep there, with all the humans and other mer (and some beast races, for _shame_ ), but they had a good library to spend time in. In the middle of the night, after all the other students had long since crashed from their own late nights, Relmyna could resume her work in earnest.

She found the books on medicine and anatomy they had to be the most fascinating. The body was a marvelous thing; a powerful, barely-understood machine that the illustrations provided could barely touch on. Perhaps it was her mother’s work in restoration that got her first interested. Her earliest memories were hazy recollections of watching her mother tend wounds in the old tower. Darvame would try to shield her child’s eyes from the sight of gore, but couldn’t hide the loud wailing and tortured face of the patient. Even that briefest glimpse of exposed bone and nerves and _meat_ still stuck out in her mind, plain as day; a haunting and sobering reminder of her own fragility as a mortal mer. She looked at her own arm, mirroring that patient’s position. What was it like to be in their place, to see one’s own mortality in front of them?

It didn’t matter. Relmyna would be healing papercuts and injured rats for years before she would be allowed to see such sights. The Mages Guild was far more interested in the health and safety of its members than Telvanni was, and major injuries were depressingly few. How was she going to learn how to heal if she didn’t have anything to mend? When she expressed her frustration to the head of the guildhall, she made sure to emphasize her desire to help people. She had to word her interests carefully, to avoid the confused and concerned stares she so despised. Nobody could understand what she was getting at if she didn’t, and she could never find the words she felt like she needed to have. It was easy enough to feign a bleeding heart though, and her superior took it seriously. She found herself with a recommendation to study under the court healer in Castle Cheydinhal. There, she’d be tending to the wounds of those who fought for their count and emperor. Facing real, genuine injuries, and real, genuine pain, her superior warned her; treating her delicately like he did every young student.

“What you see on the field may either make or break you, okay? The life of a healer and a doctor sees almost more bloodshed than that of a warrior.” The Breton looked into the young Dunmer’s eyes, failing to find any hesitation in them.

“I’m ready,” Relmyna confirmed. Even as a child she rarely smiled, but today she was beaming; excited at the offer. The guild head gave her his written recommendation to give to the court, and she set out to deliver it immediately.

Llathise noticed her leaving and ran to catch up with her, her novice robes billowing in the wind and slowing her down. Her red hair had come undone from its knot in her haste, and whipped around with the summer breeze. “Are you really getting a job at the court? You aren’t going to the Arcane University? What about the restoration chapter there?”

“I’m not wasting any more time reading about things I could be doing, Llathise,” Relmyna reached into her pocket and fished out a length of ribbon; a spare for moments like these, between her and her sister. Llathise began using it to tame her unruly mane right away. “Besides, every moment I waste is a moment I could be saving somebody.”

“I guess somebody’s gotta do the job,” Llathise’s nose wrinkled in a slightly disgusted sneer. “I can’t stand dealing with blood. Remember when they had us heal the rats? And they’d… _cut_ the rats? And you would just… hear them _screaming_ , what an awful way to teach a spell.”

“I thought it was a practical way to introduce the discipline. I only wish they’d let us try it out on human subjects more often other than on ‘ _superficial injuries_ ’. Even the rats weren’t a good example of wounds that actually warrant healing magic.”

“Well, it’s only prudent that they wouldn’t put people’s lives in the hands of students, right? And don’t give me that ‘ _I’m qualified_ ’ bull; I know that when you were doing the rat lesson, you were more interested in poking at the poor thing and making the cut _worse_.”

“Like I said, they weren’t an adequate subject to test my abilities.” Relmyna took note of the concern in her sister’s face, and backtracked. “I just… really want to do well. Mother would want me to do my best and I don’t want to disappoint her.”

Llathise’s face softened at that. “I bet mother would be proud, you know.” Her smile was more genuine than Relmyna could ever muster. Every one that was meant for her felt undeserved. Her younger sister had no idea that Relmyna had barely thought about their mother in years. In fact, she barely missed her, barely noticed her absence, while focusing on her studies. Llathise had enough empathy for the both of them, and Relmyna just tried her best to keep up.

“I hope so.” Relmyna smiled back; a practiced gesture.

Things like her mother’s job and the aspect of helping people with restoration magic were more of a coincidence and a byproduct of the curiosity she sought to satisfy. She used those things like a shield, to keep the prying eyes and judgment of others away from her and her work. It was easy to get the placement as the court healer’s apprentice, with this arsenal of heartstring-tugging sentiments and carefully constructed declarations of how much she wanted to help. In truth, she didn’t know if she _didn’t_ want to help, either. She just wanted to learn more about what people look like under their skin. She just wanted to see flayed tendons and exposed nerves again. If it was in the pursuit of healing people, did that justify it?

Was it normal? 

* * *

 

 

Relmyna didn’t mind the separation from her peers while working in the castle. She still slept and studied at the guildhall, but the court healer had her spend much of her time assisting him. Working in the infirmary of the castle involved less bloodshed than she hoped; she spent most of the job prescribing herbal medicines and helping her mentor do menial bedside care for the old and sick. One of the stableboys had broken their arm once while she was there, at least. It wasn’t very gruesome, other than the slightly disconcerting image of a wrongly bent joint, but Relmyna was taught how to set a bone that day. The stableboy wailed in her ear, face red and tears flowing. Annoyed, she told him to shut up, and got told off herself. Since then, she tried to curb her attitude better.

She’d see Llathise less and less, between their different classes and her new job. Llathise was preparing to get her recommendations from the other guilds to gain entrance to the university; it was only a matter of time before she’d leave for the Imperial City. If she wasn’t going to be a reputable Telvanni mage, she would become a reputable Guild mage, instead. Relmyna at least shared her sentiment that loyalty to their former house was overrated, even if she missed Morrowind dearly, deep down. Relmyna could admit she didn’t feel much at all, but she did feel nostalgia for the eastern coast, and for the enormous Telvanni mushrooms that brought color to her hazy childhood memories.

One day on the job, Relmyna was set on potion-making duty during a lull between patients. She despised the tedious work of alchemy, but she tried to convince herself the experience would be worth it in the end. Her mentor had left her alone in the infirmary, so she relished the solitude. She was tired of putting up with either her peers or her superiors; neither of them were good company. Nobody was good company. She only tolerated her sister, and that was through significant effort on her part. Unfortunately, that just meant Llathise would keep bothering her more often.

Llathise, growing into an independent young woman, had found her first love in the form of a fellow student and wanted to introduce him to her sister. He was a Cyrodiil-born Dunmer about Relmyna’s age, dark-haired and pleasant-looking enough, Relmyna guessed. She wasn’t very interested in men, or women, or… people in general, but she knew what everyone else liked in them and went from there. Relmyna appraised him based on how proudly her sister hung off of his arm. She seemed happy enough. Azura help the boy if Relmyna knew she wasn’t.

The young man held out his hand. “Varon Delvani, madam.”

“Relmyna Verenim, charmed,” Relmyna took his hand, but flinched when he went to kiss it instead of shake. Llathise gave him a careful stare that he picked up on. Relmyna briefly wondered if she warned him about her, earlier. The boy apologized with a good-natured chuckle.

“Varon and I are going to be studying together at the university,” Llathise was grinning, wrapping an arm around the man’s waist like she had just won him as a prize. Relmyna just smiled her practiced, courteous smile.

“I hope you both take care.”

“So you’re staying here to become a healer, huh?” Varon looked around the infirmary with meager curiosity. “You aren’t going to try to take lessons from the Imperial Cult? They have a pretty strong chapter in the city.”

“I’m not religious,” Relmyna admitted, “And I’m not especially concerned with the Aedra. I’d rather work independently.”

“Fair enough.” Varon untangled himself from Llathise to look over the infirmary beds, and various medical instruments they had on hand. Relmyna had half a mind to tell him not to touch anything, but he seemed respectful enough, with his hands obediently clasped behind his back. “I’m studying destruction mostly, myself. I can imagine if you came to the city you’d be seeing a lot of me anyways, hah.”

Relmyna had no idea if that was a joke or not, but she forced a bemused chuckle anyways, to keep up. “So are you not very good, or are you just very reckless?”

“The latter,” Llathise answered for him, giving him the same half concerned, half admonishing look a parent would give their child. “But hopefully he’ll be careful with his studies. Won’t you, dear?”

“Of course, of course,” Varon went up to the girl, and gave her a peck on the lips. “Besides, I’m in good hands as long as people like Relmyna are around to patch me up, hmm?” He looked at Relmyna, and put her on the spot. The older sister smiled sweetly.

“Absolutely, I’m here to help.”

“’Myna loves helping people. I guess you’d have to, to work with this sort of stuff.” Llathise spied one of the metal instruments they had on hand, and made a face. She was probably imagining something far worse than what it would actually be used for in a medical setting.

Relmyna recited a phrase she heard her mentor say. “It’s hard work, but it has its own reward.” Her two guests seemed to agree with that sentiment.

The remainder of the visit was uncomfortable, like the majority of Relmyna’s interactions with people. Llathise gushed at length about her and Varon’s trip to the university, mostly focusing on how big and exciting the city will be, and how much she longed to leave Cheydinhal. Varon seemed more focused on his studies, but Relmyna picked up a need to impress; not just from being around his girlfriend, but in general. He seemed attracted to destruction magic because it was dangerous and flashy. Relmyna couldn’t understand that, but she could appreciate the dangerous part. She’d taken a few lessons in the college, herself, and they both found a common ground to talk shop in. It was a surprising turn of events, as Relmyna rarely found someone who’d talk about magic in such an aloof, natural manner. It was always so _clinical_ with Guild mages; so deprived of life and passion in order to meet a requirement of safety. Varon came off as less refined than most, but he had enthusiasm, and it was infectious.

 Llathise tolerated their involved conversation for only a little bit, before she got bored and jealous of not having any of Varon’s attention, and reminded him that they had things to do. Before they left, Varon gave Relmyna a wink.

“If I’m ever hurting in Cheydinhal, I’ll know who to find, okay?”

Relmyna waved him off with a smile. For once, she only had to fake it a little.

* * *

 

Only a few days had passed, and Llathise’s new boyfriend had almost left Relmyna’s mind when the Dunmer turned up again, late at night. Relmyna knew that Llathise usually turned in around this time, and her intuition told her something was wrong. Varon looked a little guilty behind the mischievous grin he wore.

“So, you remember when I said I’d come to you if I was hurtin’, right? Well… I plan on it, tonight.” He ran a hand through his black hair. Relmyna picked up that he was nervous. “I’m seriously behind on my entrance recommendations, honestly… I need practice, but I can’t exactly go around burning people to death, you know?”

Relmyna took a moment to remember that yes, it _would_ be pretty bad if he did that. People might care.

“So I was looking for some uh, unconventional techniques, something that’ll get me an advantage. I came across stuff written about this guy, this mage who wanted to master destruction? He used it on himself! Cast spells on his own damn body! Crazy, right?”

“It wouldn’t work,” Relmyna narrowed her eyes skeptically. “Extreme emotions like pain and fear break the concentration of most mages. Even if he managed it he’d just go into shock, regardless. It’s dangerous, and it won’t teach you anything.”

“Well yeah, if I’m trying it by myself,” Varon tried to give her a playful elbow, but she flinched away with a frown. “If you’re around to patch me up, I should come out of it no worse for wear, right? I’ll cast the spells, and you’ll heal me right away.”

Relmyna was taken aback by such a bold request, but she wasn’t as disturbed by it as she acted. “That sounds absolutely mad.”

“Mad enough to work, right?” he gave her a charming smile that probably would have worked on her sister. It didn’t work on Relmyna, but what he offered was… interesting. Dangerous. It most likely wouldn’t end well for him at all, but it would probably be a _very_ interesting experience with healing magical wounds. They’d certainly be more grievous than a careful cut on a rat, or even a broken arm.

“… Alright, but only because somebody needs to make sure you don’t kill yourself.” Relmyna admitted. Varon rejoiced. He seemed far too happy about this, for someone who was planning on deliberate self-mutilation.

 

The two of them found a quiet, out of the way place for their macabre work. Relmyna had visited the dungeons before after getting lost looking for supplies, and found that they were often quite empty. That night was no exception, though the irony of conducting this willing torture in a castle dungeon was not lost on Varon, and he’d joke about it incessantly. Relmyna handed him a cork bit and he shut right up.

“Bite down on this when you start casting. You’ll need it.”

“Afraid somebody might hear me?”

“No. We give this to patients when doing things like setting bones. It’s to keep you from breaking your teeth, when the pain makes your jaw clench.”

Varon paled a little bit, the reality of what he was about to do sinking in for him just a tad.

The Dunmer man sat in a chair, in the farthest cell in the back of the dungeon. It hadn’t been used in quite some time, and no doubt wouldn’t be searched very often. Relmyna had brought along a bag of emergency supplies; bandages, a needle and thread, a few bottles of antiseptic and healing elixir. Things that could be used if spells failed, or weren’t enough. Varon had a book of advanced destruction spells. He nervously fidgeted with the little rod of soft cork he was given in one hand while he read up on the spell he was about to cast.

“Okay, let’s start… simple. Just to see what we’re getting into. Just a fire spell, should be easy enough to handle, right? Like getting burnt on a stove.”

It was going to be far worse than that, Relmyna noted to herself, but she didn’t warn him. He was just going to have to find out for himself and learn just how stupid he was.

Varon held out his left arm, bare and thin with little musculature, wrist-up like a fucking idiot. Relmyna was familiar with the arteries he was no doubt going to damage if the burn was severe enough. But would it merely cauterize them instead? She didn’t know; in fact, being able to see a severe, magic-caused burn was exciting. She had no experience with it, and she loved the thrill of learning something new. The thrill of seeing a new way a familiar body part could be destroyed and put back together again.

Varon’s nervousness botched the cast and the gout of flame he was going for was weaker than intended. It was misaimed, and only grazed the side of his forearm and blackened the legs of the chair. The man seized up, grunting. His hand balled into a tight fist that made the tendons in his wrist stick out sharply. His uninjured hand began banging angrily on his thigh and Relmyna could just _feel_ the regret. She started healing him immediately, using a light spell for the meager amount of damage. Varon nearly moaned with relief as the pain numbed away; he had already broken a sweat, flushing purplish against his blue-grey skin.

When the damage was undone, he still breathed heavily; as though they had amputated the arm entirely. Relmyna was quiet, watching his reaction. Was he being dramatic, or was his pain threshold really that low?

“Okay… okay, I may have gotten just a bit over my head here,” Varon tried to play off his fear and pain with a laugh, but he was met with the unsettling calm of his companion.

“You missed. It would have been a lot worse otherwise. It was only a first, maybe a second degree burn.” Relmyna recited, having read about burn injuries before. It wasn’t a very special burn, as she had tended to kitchen mishaps like minor burns before. She expected something… more substantial.

Varon snapped at her, looking worse for wear from the pain he inflicted on himself. “Yeah _no shit_ I missed, setting yourself on fire isn’t something you’re really meant to do so _forgive me_ if my animal instincts kick in.”

Relmyna goaded him on. “Well, do you want this, or do you want to give into instinct like a _frightened animal?_ ”

The Dunmer man glared at her, composing himself, then tested the healed flesh of his arm. Seemingly satisfied with its state, he held his forearm out again. Relmyna held her breath.

The second spell hit his arm directly this time. Varon clenched down hard on his bit and let out a low, tortured sound. The spell took a good second to cast, and by the time his shaking hand stopped spitting flame the entire smooth, soft underside of his forearm was an angry gray-green and purple mass. As Varon shook and convulsed in pain, blisters were already forming rapidly, almost bubbling up from the flesh.

Relmyna paused before healing him, watching his face contort in agony. His whole body was shaking, and he took to rocking from side to side in his seat. Interesting reactions. Pain wasn’t just a localized sensation, its effects rippled throughout the body and mind. When she started her healing spell, he was sobbing. She didn’t know why; he knew he was being healed immediately. One would think he’d face his own personal mutilation with more dignity.

Varon was still reeling in pain after she had already healed all trace of the burn. He seemed broken already, his afflicted arm limp. She poked it, testing for nerve damage, and he swore at her.

“Don’t _fucking_ touch me,”

“That was a second degree burn.” Relmyna noted with a clinical coldness towards the whole situation. She hadn’t had much experience with burns that bad. That may have been the worst so far… but there was always room for improvement.

“Yeah, I know what it fucking is. Gods….” Varon stirred, carefully moving his arm, examining it. Tears stained his face, which had paled considerably. “I can’t do this, this was a mistake.”

What? “Are you quitting already?” Relmyna couldn’t help but sound disappointed. Varon moved like all the energy had been sapped out of him as he rose carefully from his seat.

“Yeah, I’m done.” He croaked.

“But you didn’t even get anything done… you didn’t learn anything. _I_ didn’t learn anything! What’s the point if you’re just going to give up early?!”

Varon just gawked at her as he began to stagger out of the cell, repulsed. “Prince of Plots, ‘Myna, you really are a fuckin’ nutter, aren’t you? Llathise was right.”

That’s all it took, really. In his weakened state, he was easy enough to pull backwards and back onto the chair. He thrashed out immediately, fighting back, but a sharp punch to his previously burnt arm sent another wave of pain through his body. Relmyna knew the healing spell she used would make the flesh tender. She bent his arms behind the back of the chair with some difficulty, and reached into her bag. The bandages would do nicely. She looped them around the spokes of the chair and his wrists. His reaction was, understandably, livid. He was hoarsely shouting things she’d never been called before, and they echoed uselessly off the stone with his less intelligible screams of fear.

Varon squirmed in his seat as Relmyna stepped back. The Dunmer bent forward, hair obscuring his tortured glare. He threatened to knock the chair over, but her firm hand on his shoulder stayed him.

“You might want to stay still,” Relmyna conjured a roiling bloom of fire in her hand. “You really don’t want me to miss.”

Instead of tossing it like a regular fireball, she slammed it, palm first, onto the man’s thigh. He _shrieked_ in her ear, deafening her and leaving a sharp ringing for a moment. His pants caught fire and burnt away like so many layers of skin, leaving a large chunk of his leg a bloodless, burnt crisp. dark drown with yellowed chunks of fat sizzling away. She patted down the stray flames singing the fabric along the edge of the firey impact, and admired her handiwork.

“There. A third degree burn. It has damaged every layer of the skin, do you see?” She stuck a finger in the wound. It was still hot. So hot it singed her, but she didn’t flinch nor withdraw; she savored the sensation. It made her feel alive. By that logic, did Varon feel even more alive than her?

He seemed to be, still struggling to get away from her. His eyes wild and looking at her like that of a corned animal. Like a rabbit that had been caught, and was about to die of fright before ever meeting the fox’s jaws. She didn’t know why he’d be so scared if he knew she was about to cure him. Didn’t he want this?

The healing spell she used was the most powerful one she could use. She watched it remake the flesh of her victim, and observed his new convulsions. Of course… he had suffered enough nerve damage that healing them just brought on new pain. By the time she was finished, he looked even closer to death than when he was still wounded. Even she felt a little tired from that, but that was no excuse for her to stop when she was getting so much practice in.

“Shall we start on the other leg? I want to see if I can reach the bone, then heal that.”

 

Varon stopped responding after the sixth time Relmyna burnt him. Even when she ensured his nerves were still functional, it seemed that his mind simply couldn’t take any more. The stress of pain took quite a toll on him. On her second try, he started up the crass namecalling again, shouting nasty lies about her personal life, and a few unwarranted insults about her sister, too. Llathise would hear about that, certainly. She wasn’t letting her baby sister date a man who would talk about her like that. Varon didn’t seem concerned about his honor at that point. After his voice gave out while screaming during the fifth try, he pissed himself, then started sobbing quietly. Openly, like a baby. It was a very interesting learning experience, all in all. By using such powerful healing spells, she learned to cast them more efficiently, doing a little better each time. Varon however, did not learn very much about destruction. He hadn’t even looked at the last three fireballs she cast on his person.

Relmyna gave the cheek of the other mage a gentle pat. “You still here? You’re going to have to tell me if I’m restoring the feeling in your legs correctly. I need the feedback of a patient if I am to treat them.”

She barely heard him mumble a response. She leaned in close. “What was that?”

Under his breath, she heard Varon whisper, “ _She was right about you._ ”

Relmyna withdrew with a skeptical grimace. “Right about what, hmm?”

Varon couldn’t look at her anymore. He looked through her, behind her. Tears had dried and crusted over along the edges of his eyelids. If his eyes weren’t already red, they’d be bloodshot.

She needed a firm approach to get to him. “What did Llathise say, Varon?”

He didn’t respond, but a tight grip on his chin made his dull eyes meet hers.

“What. Did. She. _Say?_ ”

Varon admitted with his failing voice, accepting the fate he knew would follow. “ _… You’re just a monster, pretending to be an elf._ ”

Relmyna straightened up wordlessly. Looking the bound mer up and down, looking at the new and fresh flesh she so altruistically granted him, surrounded by scraps of blackened fabric. Looking at the face that she watched her sister admire not too long ago. She made up her mind.

“I think I’ve learned all I can about single-fireball burns. Perhaps you can assist me in multiple wound treatment, now.”

* * *

 

There was a commotion in Castle Cheydinhal in the early morning when a fire broke out in the dungeon, burning everything save for the stony foundation. The court mage identified it as magefire, as the flames burnt for too long in such a closed off environment. The Guild was immediately implicated, and they took a headcount on the spot. Only one member that stayed there was missing. Relmyna was woken by her mentor, who embraced her gratefully on the spot, beside himself with fear that the charred body they found would turn out to be hers. She was such a good student, he’d hate for her studies to turn into such a disaster. Llathise also arrived, trailing behind the guild head that came to help the investigation of the tragedy. She seemed similarly concerned; but Relmyna noted she did not hug her as well. Not until the solemn head of their guild and the captain of the guard came up from the dungeon stairwell, and said their deepest condolences.

Relmyna observed that her sister only touched her during moments of exceptional grief. The death of their mother. Their displacement from Morrowind. The death of her lover. She shook with the same body-wide convulsions that she would as if she were in extreme physical pain.

What a fascinating result.


	2. 2 [self mutilation/harm, burns]

“’Myna, I really appreciate the gesture, but you don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to.” Llathise had taken on a much more delicate quality to her actions and behavior, since the ‘accident’. She was nervous and misty-eyed, like she was on the verge of crying all over again at the slightest provocation. Relmyna could only treat her as gently as she could muster.

“I insist. I don’t want to leave my baby sister alone in the city,” Relmyna put on her best, most sincere-looking smile, copied directly from Llathise. Having a sister who looked similar to you made it easier to gauge which facial expressions looked the best. “Besides, I don’t think I can stay in the castle, anymore… not after the accident. I just… keep thinking about waking up to the smoke and the panic, and seeing his blackened corpse….”

She trailed off, remembering not to go into too much detail. Her sister, Azura bless her, needed to be handled carefully, even more than when they were children coming from Morrowind. “… I just keep thinking about what I could have done to save him.”

Llathise gave her a wet-eyed little smile, a tiny little spark of affection beneath her grief. “It’s alright. Thank you, ‘Myna. Really.”

Relmyna took care to spend more time with Llathise since her boyfriend died. It was the least she could do, after all. While she had no remorse for the man, she didn’t want to make things even more difficult for her sister. Even if it was she who called Relmyna a monster, according to Varon’s cryptic claims. Relmyna wanted to keep a closer eye on her, now. She was always an observer, taking in the little details of people. She realized she needed this skill at a young age, when she found that she didn’t react to things the way her sister did, and others noticed it. As useless as the notion was to her, she still had a duty to ‘fit in’ with everyone else, to get ahead. Having Llathise around was helpful, because she served as the perfect role model of how a young Dunmeri lady should act.

* * *

 

The Imperial City was far larger than any city Relmyna could possibly imagine. It felt like a country all its own, in terms of scale and separation from the rest of Cyrodiil. The Arcane University attached to it felt like a large city within its borders with its own distinct aesthetic. It was impressive, but there were still too many people for Relmyna. Any amount of people was too many, really. How was she going to have a nice, private study session in a library that was almost never empty? Even her dorm had to be shared with strangers, and not just her sister. Regrettably, they couldn’t assign the two together in the same room. Relmyna was saddled with a tall and haughty Altmer girl who seemed just as displeased at the placement as she did. At least they had something in common.

After her enlightening learning experience in Castle Cheydinhal, Relmyna found a new appreciation for the college of destruction. She still gravitated towards the college of restoration for its focus on medical practices, but she found that her bias there gave her a specific advantage in her destruction classes all the same. Even though the classes carefully skirted around the prospect of destruction spells being used on other people, Relmyna still took down notes in the margins of her parchment, stewing over the effects certain elements would have on one’s person. How she could heal that in an efficient manner. Occasionally, she thought of the reaction someone would have, when hit with a certain spell. The pain they’d feel, seizing up; their body going into shock. When they covered the discipline of fire magic, she shivered with an indescribable feeling; remembering crispy, cooked flesh and blistering layers of skin. Experiencing the effects was so much more _satisfying_ than hearing them clinically described by a teacher who clearly didn’t want to offend his more sensitive pupils. Llathise was in the classroom with her, and she had to excuse herself during that lesson.

Other than that, school was… unsatisfying. Relmyna had found herself wanting for something she couldn’t quite describe, and it began to frustrate her. Ever since Varon died, it felt like no amount of study could hone her abilities like raw, pure practice. With no willing subjects, Relmyna gave into impulse on her improvisation.

One night Relmyna spent an ‘all-nighter’ until the wee hours of the morning, waiting out the constitutions of all the other students in hopes that at least some point everyone would be asleep. The most quiet and out of the way place she could think of, a storage room at the very bottom of some tower she didn’t care to remember, would be her newest sanctuary. She brought her bag of supplies with her, as she preferred to come over-prepared rather than under-prepared, and settled in with a lantern and a book.

It was an anatomy book, the latest reference material she could find in the city. It was much more advanced and sophisticated than the outdated tomes back in the Cheydinhal guild, and she had her nose in it all week. It gave her ideas. She was familiar with herself enough to know her reactions to things around her and happening to her were fairly limited; would she have a different reaction to pain than Varon, or would she also crumple up into a broken ball? She never had much in the way of childhood injuries. Her own experience with pain was limited, but it could be so much more _enlightened_.

She started with her leg. The damage would, in theory, mostly affect the fatty tissue of her thigh without being life-threatening. She had a lower amount of apparent body fat than the average Dunmer female; how would that factor in? Let’s find out. Relmyna didn’t hesitate like Varon did; she boldly applied two fire-tipped fingers to the side of her leg. The now-familiar stench of burning flesh filled her nostrils, thick and intoxicating. The second degree burn stung considerably, and pain radiated from the affected area in muscle-clenching waves. She grunted, but kept a straight face. The healing spell hurt as well, as it repaired the flesh and all the nerve endings with it, but as soon as all trace of the burn was gone the relief was instant. Numbing. She let out a long, satisfied-sounding sigh as endorphins raced through her system. She heard about this, the pleasure that your brain tricks you into feeling after pain. It felt better than she imagined, but she couldn’t let it distract her.

The second attempt was more severe. Layers of skin blistered and warped and she heard a clear sizzle, like searing meat. Her leg was smoking. At a certain point, the worst parts were entirely numb from nerve damage. It made it all the more satisfying when she healed herself, feeling her flesh mend down to the last detail. The pain took over her cold, clinical mind in a moment of pure emotion; pure feeling that had her reeling. Writhing. Moaning. By the time the wound had healed, she was limp and exhausted. Breathing heavily. She understood things a little better now, but she still had so much to learn.

* * *

 

At dawn, Relmyna emerged from her hiding place with a limp. Her legs ached, from where she continued her cycle of destruction and restoration until her magicka was depleted. Craving more, she took out the emergency supplies, and used those for good measure. Just a bit. Just to feel that again. That raw feeling. That ecstasy. Her legs would heal; by the time that she could use her healing spells on them again they may be scarred from delayed care, as restoration magic worked best on fresh wounds, but it didn’t matter. She felt a certain detachment from her body now, without pain uniting flesh and soul in one unified declaration of passion.

The dissociation she felt persisted throughout the rest of her classes. She was shiftless and distracted, traces of the intoxicating scent of burning flesh catching in the back of her throat, sending her mind back to that moment of rapture. She had to understand it, to pick it apart like so many bodies of summoned scamps her teacher had provided for their lesson. Today, her class observed the physiology of daedra, and the differences that set them apart from mortal creature. It was a topic Relmyna was lukewarm on, as she was unused to and disinterested in animals, but she enjoyed the hands-on nature of the lesson. Many of the other students did not.

The scamp body she was assigned was disgustingly cold, and the blood had congealed from being set out for so long. The body was in a very early state of decay, but it smelled, and that combined with the dozen other corpses in the room for a truly noxious odor. Relmyna didn’t mind it, really. She only wished she could smell the blood when it was fresh. She knew this wasn’t a _normal_ thing to desire, so she feigned quiet, reserved disgust. Just enough to match up with the genuine grimaces of her peers. She made sure to add in a few soft sounds of disgusted protest as she reached into the scamp’s parted ribcage and removed its heart, by her teacher’s instruction.

The student seated next to her screwed her face up in sympathetic disgust. “Horrible, isn’t it?”

Relmyna didn’t take her eyes off her work. “Truly.”

The teacher began to describe the properties of daedra hearts, and compared them to a preserved human heart he obtained for such an occasion. Relmyna’s own skipped a beat. She had never seen one before, in person… it was a shame that it was already tainted with embalming fluid and sealed in a jar. Relmyna started to regret killing Varon so quickly back in Cheydinhal; there was so much she wanted to learn and experience for herself. Things that she couldn’t do alone.

 

Relmyna returned to her dorm that night, with a stack of new books from the library. She was still poring over the anatomy and medical tomes that they had on hand, and planned on searching the bookstores in the city for any more. There was only so much she could glean from them, but they would have to do. Her mind filled in the blanks, the missed sensations that came with dissecting a real body. What did it feel like, to peel skin back over someone’s torso, to bodily pull their ribs apart? Would it be like the dead scamp, or would it be significantly different? How warm was a fresh body, on the inside? She had so many questions, but nowhere in which to direct them. She had no rhyme or reason to her passion, it just _was_ ; and she felt like she would be on the verge of some sort of breakthrough if only she could pursue it properly. The pain she felt, inflicted upon herself, was only the tip of an iceberg of true enlightenment.

As she read obsessively by magelight at her bed, the occupant of the second bed across the room tossed and turned, making sure to show just how disruptive she thought that was. It wasn’t even a very bright light, but her roommate, Cirenwe, found almost everything Relmyna did disruptive and annoying. It was confusing, because Relmyna had always taken precaution towards being as quiet and unobtrusive as she could. She was beginning to think her roommate was acting this way on purpose. For all her years of being saddled with the company of other people, she just couldn’t understand their intentions, or their lives. What drove these people? What drove her, as well?

“Could you _please_ dispel that light and go to bed?” Her roommate hissed from under a cocoon of bedsheets, her green eyes glaring at the young Dunmer.

“I can turn it down, if you’d like.” Relmyna offered helpfully. Her patience was worn down over the weeks spent with the high elf, even if they only really saw each other when they were about to turn in for the night. However, being rude back would just draw attention to herself. She had already carefully cultivated a mask of pleasantness; she wouldn’t let some gangly brat goad her into breaking it.

“I don’t know about you, but I have classes in the morning,” Cirenwe sat up in her bed, her golden hair a mess when not put up in its fancy Summerset style. “You’d do well to be more sensitive towards others.”

“What does that have to do with turning off a light? It’s not hurting you. Just turn around and go back to sleep.”

“It’s not just _the light_ ; it’s the fact that you’re awake, _every night_ , up at all hours reading those creepy books. That’s all you seem to do! I could have gotten a more pleasant roommate, but no! I had to get the morbid _creep_.” Cirenwe whined as she rolled over to face the wall in a huff. Relmyna glared, offended, but the Altmer had the advantage here. What could she do that wouldn’t draw the attention of the other students?

Though she had more than a few things in mind to say (and do) to the Altmer, intuition had Relmyna remove herself from the situation. Her childhood was filled with too many squabbles and outright fights already; drawing attention to herself with aggression would be counterproductive to her pursuits. She snuffed out her magelight, and headed out to read in the common room.

Relmyna’s dorm was upstairs, and was close to the walkway that overlooked the common room on the first floor. Another Dunmer was leaning against the railing, pensive. Llathise. The two sisters exchanged glances, and Relmyna gravitated towards her.

“What are you doing up?” Because she was aggravated, Relmyna’s question accidentally came out more like a demand. She tried to recover from it. “It’s… not like you to stay up so late.”

“I’m just thinking,” Llathise chose to stare ahead of her, looking at the empty floor below. “I couldn’t sleep. You?”

“I got kicked out,” Relmyna admitted, shooting an icy glare at the door behind her. “My roommate thought my reading was keeping her awake, the spoiled Altmer brat.”

Llathise snorted gently with a chuckle. “What did you expect? I haven’t met a high elf that _didn’t_ think the sun and moons revolved around them.”

“Yeah well, I would have given her a piece of my mind but, I’d rather keep my scholarship.”

Llathise nodded in acknowledgment. “That’s good of you, you know. To keep from escalating the situation.” Her soft, blue-grey face brightened up in a smile Relmyna couldn’t hope to match. “You’ve really grown, ‘Myna. Sometimes I worry about you, but you seem to be taking care of yourself.”

Relmyna felt her face heat up. She straightened up subconsciously. Llathise, more than anybody, had been privy to more of Relmyna’s nature than anyone else. Not all of it, by a long shot, but enough. Every look her sister gave her, every acknowledging smile and concerned question was out of Llathise’s insight into Relmyna’s… eccentricity. Just _how much_ about her did she know?

Enough to call her a monster, apparently.

“I do my best.”

“You know, I thought you would sign up to become an acolyte in the Temple District, honestly; since they focus more on medicine than the restoration teachers here.”

“I’m… exploring my options. Taking different classes. Figuring things out, I guess.”

“Me too,” Llathise sighed heavily, her narrow shoulders drooping as she propped her elbows up on the rail, holding her head up. “I guess I don’t really know what to do. Maybe I’m still used to how things work in House Telvanni. Is it really going to be the same if I’m a Guild mage, rather than a House mage?”

Relmyna shrugged, unconcerned with matters like house or guild loyalty, as usual. “Well either way, you’re a mage, right? Shouldn’t it be about the pursuit of knowledge and power, first and foremost?”

Her sister sighed again, softly. “I suppose. I don’t know. I guess I don’t really know what I want out of my studies yet, you know?”

“I understand,” Relmyna leaned back against the railing with her, relaxing as she looked back on her own, troubled motivations. “I suppose right now I just feel… lost. Aimless. I thought I had a clear idea of what to do when I was younger, but perhaps it was just the inexperience of youth coloring my judgment.”

“Are you having second thoughts about becoming a healer?”

Relmyna looked at her sister. Really, truly looked at her. Trying to understand, for all of her detachment from other people, what could be going on behind those bright red eyes that she could possibly find common ground with. In truth, she wanted nothing more than to share her sentiment towards flesh and pain with Llathise. She wanted to enlighten her. She wanted to share a piece of herself with another person and have them understand her, for once in her life.

“… I don’t really know _what_ I’m going to do, Llathise.”

Llathise went in for an embrace. Relmyna went rigid, letting her wrap her scrawny arms around her shoulders. It was brief, because she knew Relmyna wasn’t affectionate in the least, but the sentiment wasn’t entirely lost on the older sibling.

“I understand. But we’re still young, right? We have the whole era ahead of us, maybe more.” Llathise smiled up at her sister as she withdrew. “Whatever you do, Relmyna, I’ll support you. I know you’d do the same for me, right?”

Relmyna nodded dumbly, taken aback a little from the sudden contact. The irony of her sister’s support was not lost on her.

Llathise excused herself after some stray smalltalk, finally exhausted enough to head to bed. Relmyna decided to turn in as well, with nothing else to do and another school day ahead of her. Her roommate was fast asleep by then, thankfully, and didn’t bother her. Sleep came easily, from a previous night spent up so late.

 

In an auditorium of the University, Relmyna stood before a full house of peers. Llathise, ever faithful, took up the front row, with her lover. Relmyna barely acknowledged something was amiss. She was too focused on her presentation, words coming out of her mouth almost automatically, though she felt as though she had no speech prepared or subject in mind.

“ _Flesh_ is life in its purest form. _Pain_ is the proof of its mortality; the thing that binds us to this realm. Without pain, how could we really say we live? How can we know pleasure without it? Do we really exist without pain, or are we just living in a mockery of life if we avoid it?”

She took her arm, and placed it on a table that wasn’t there before. A spotlight shone on her, as if this was all an act rather than a serious presentation. People began to lean forward in their seats. There was something in Relmyna’s hand; fitting perfectly in her grip with age-old familiarity. A butcher’s cleaver. Unbidden, she continued.

“Tonight, we will discover the true nature of our flesh, and our existence, _together_.”

With a swift, clean chop, Relmyna started with her fingers. The cleaver came away bloodless, and the insides of her fingers looked like chunks of boneless, raw meat. She brought the blade down again, and again, like a butcher preparing a haunch of guar. The dull _thunk_ of the cleaver’s edge biting into the meat and wood below it was the only thing that echoed in the cavernous room. The audience was silent, attentive.

When Relmyna had finished, her arm was chopped up in neat slices. Devoid of bones, her flesh was pure, marbled meat; wet but not bloody. She felt nothing, despite her previous monologue about pain. The sanitized nature of the act was not lost in her strangely muddled, distracted mind. This wasn’t right, it began to dawn on her; this wasn’t _real_. The audience began to applaud in the sedate, bored manner of a classroom unimpressed by their teacher. She felt upset, and nervous. She had everything in place, what was she doing _wrong_?

Relmyna looked back at her sister for guidance, for acknowledgment. She had waited _so long_ to show her, after all. She valued her opinion. She wanted to impress her.

Llathise wasn’t there. Someone else was taking her place.

Whoever he was, he was clapping, enthusiastically. Supportively.

Relmyna tried to move the stump of her arm, and was greeted by a jolt of sobering pain.

 

Groaning, Relmyna struggled to roll over in bed, coming to from her dream to find that she had lain on her arm all night and cut off the circulation. Repositioning it, she gently patted down the numb limb to try and coax feeling back into it, struggling to regain movement in her fingers. The light of dawn was streaming in from a gap in the closed curtains. Remembering she had classes to get to, Relmyna silently took Azura’s name in vain, and griped internally over Vaermina’s nighttime influence. With her macabre interests, _of course_ something as mundane as performance anxiety would give her nightmares.

Yet the dream, though abstract, had a message to it that was clear to her as she prepared for the day ahead. Clearly, she had ideas. She just didn’t know what to do with them. Not yet.

There was so much more she had to learn, but her path was becoming clear to her.


	3. 3 [necromancy, torture]

Grey fingers dug into soft, putrid meat with a sickening squelch. Blood dribbled down in rivulets, splattering onto butcher’s paper. Relmyna was wrist-deep inside someone’s chest cavity, and the other mages in the circle winced at the ferocity at which she pulled open the torso of the corpse. She held up a waiting hand, not looking up from the gory scene, and waited for someone to give her the final ingredient. The soul gem they could obtain was small and weak, probably formerly that of a dog or a sheep. When she requested it beforehand, she expected something just slightly more substantial. Still, this is the sort of quality you got, doing necromancy experiments in the sewers.

The gem was lodged in place, next to the heart, and the chest cavity was closed back up. Sloppy stitches using catgut ensured that everything would stay in place. It was ready. Relmyna took a step back from it, wiping off her bloodied hands.

“Experiment log: 5th of Rain’s Hand, on the 163rd year of the Third Era. Soul gem placement experiment number three. Francois, are you writing this down?”

One of the dour, hooded mages began frantically transcribing in his logbook. Relmyna continued her assessment.

“The test of the effects of binding souls to different places in the body to maximize control and efficiency continues. Subject is an Imperial male, aged thirty-five to forty, with petty souls placed in proximity to the heart and brain. Vicienne, begin the bind, please?”

An Imperial began casting a spell of reanimation, taken from a tattered copy of techniques and propaganda from the Order of the Black Worm. It was shared amongst all of them in the circle, with everybody taking turns to familiarize themselves with the spells. With limited resources and five eager, aspiring necromancers having to split everything amongst themselves, they had to work out a system.

The air went cold and dry as the souls magically took hold in the corpse. It stirred, its limbs struggling to gain motor control to raise itself up. The head turned this way and that, a low and hollow groan escaping from the zombie’s open mouth. Its movements became frantic and violent as the souls struggled for control and there was a snap as the body broke its own neck. The other mages winced quietly in sympathy. Relmyna just cursed.

“Dammit… subject still continues to exhibit unpredictable behavior and destructive flailing of its limbs, seemingly out of discord between the multiple souls….” The corpse twitched, but was now mostly still. The spinal cord must have been damaged. Its neck was bent and turned at an impossible angle; its vacant, cloudy eyes staring straight at the woman who brought it from death. Relmyna stared back, defiant.

“Perhaps related souls could be bound together to create a co-dependent bond? Perhaps a familial relationship, like twins? I must do more research before ruling this hypothesis out. Let’s unbind it, then clean up. Maybe we can still use the corpse.”

Francois jotted down the remainder of the notes dutifully while his peers began the slow, cumbersome process of moving the body. Relmyna watched over them, taking her place as the brains of this operation. The other mages, all young and ambitious students of the Arcane University, had begun to look up to her for her ideas in the last few months. At first, necromancy was a means to an end for her; she wanted to study flesh, and necromancers were more than willing to provide. They accepted her morbid nature and grotesque ideas with enthusiasm, and encouraged her to follow down the path of the dark arts. Perhaps it was peer pressure, but Relmyna felt rather thrilled to be rewarded for her eccentricities. It drove her to go to greater and grander lengths to understand the act of raising the dead, in hopes that with it would come a better understanding of flesh as a whole.

She waxed poetic about her fascination with flesh, and her special relationship with pain. Her new peers accepted her thoughts and ideas graciously. For once, she fit in somewhere, but there was only so much they could do for her. These green, naïve young men and women desired power and prestige, rather than knowledge. They wanted to follow in the steps of Mannimarco, and Relmyna did not. She swore allegiance to no one, and she had the sinking feeling that soon that would become an issue.

The corpse was given to the rest of the tiny coven, to use as they wish. Maybe it could still be used as a reanimated skeleton, after some repair work and cleanup. Relmyna, however, had a formula to perfect. Her idea for finding synchronization between multiple souls started as a hypothesis, but curiosity got the better of her. She had already experimented with animal subjects by binding two rat souls into one rat body; it was deemed inconclusive when the rat seemed confused and conflicted, with the souls, while similar, fighting for control. The result interested her, and she wanted to see what would come of it. The art of binding souls to bodies physically in such a way was crude and primitive, compared to the more sophisticated necromancy that imbued the dead with Daedric souls, but she saw it as a safer alternative. She was just a student, after all. She had her limits.

 

In a nasty, moldering section of sewers beneath the Arcane University, Relmyna and her new friends found their sanctuary. Earlier they had mapped out a significant surrounding portion of it, and found a small boon in the form of a group of smalltime smugglers sharing it as a hideout. They got a few good, usable bodies out of that. Their last one was still being kept ‘fresh’, at Relmyna’s behest. He was some Nord fellow, or was it Imperial? Breton? They all looked the same to her. He put up quite a fight, and as the healthiest, Relmyna took him in for her own, private research.

The prisoner cowered immediately upon noticing her. He was covered in large swatches of dark, hairless scars – the result of an earlier experiment, inducing the overgrowth of scar tissue through healing spells. His contribution to Relmyna’s research was going to be an important part of her essay at the university, though he wasn’t anywhere near as enthused. Because his constant yelling and cursing and pleading for help disturbed the other necromancers, Relmyna cut his vocal chords. The hoarse panting he made as he started to panic from her presence wasn’t as satisfying, sure, but it did make Relmyna appreciate the other tells of fear and stress he would exhibit as a direct response to her ministrations.

Relmyna smiled sweetly at her prisoner, rubbing her hands together eagerly. “Are you as excited to begin as I am? When I’m done with my essay, we can start on some _fun_ hypotheses I have in mind.”

She was met with ragged, voiceless sobbing as the man frantically scuttled backwards against the wall. His manacles clanked around and echoed off of the moldy, stonework walls. Having a personal ‘plaything’ was the most fun Relmyna had in a long time, finally having an outlet for the sadism she built up over the past few months in the Arcane University. Most of all, she knew that her new peers wouldn’t object to her darker whims, for fear of being her next ‘test subject’.

Relmyna grabbed the length of chain keeping her captive shackled to the wall, and dragged the scarred, terrified man over to her. He only met her with token resistance; he knew there wasn’t any escape. Fighting back just meant more agony. The prisoner crawled feebly to the Dunmer’s feet, and let her look him over. Thick, raised scars from the previous tests grew over his limbs like a profane corruption, a testament to the hidden danger of restoration magic. Relmyna sought to bring the ugly truth of the discipline to light; not out of a duty to warn people, but because she found the result quite beautiful. Since then, she had made fantastic progress in understanding the nature of the magically-cultivated, tumorous growths.

She grabbed the man’s most heavily afflicted arm, admiring the huge patch of darkened, shiny tissue that had spread from the elbow down. “Oh, this one is coming along nicely. I think we’re almost ready to harvest a sample for further study.”

The scarred man whimpered at the prospect.

Relmyna went to fetch her array of tools for this very purpose, when she was interrupted by one of her fellow necromancers. The freckled, red-headed Breton gave the captive shackled to the wall a wary, disturbed glance before his wide eyes flicked over to the man’s torturer. Relmyna gave the intrusion a most insincere, venomous smile.

“I hope you have a good reason for interrupting my work,”

“I’m sorry, Relmyna, but Ocantir wants able bodies to help him on a gravedigging run, and it’s your turn.”

Relmyna sighed. Most of the chores that came with their gruesome hobby were shared amongst the small coven, even if it meant dragging Relmyna out with them once in a while. She had to be a part of the team, but the idea of having to be even slightly responsible for a group of peers annoyed her to no end. Such was the price she had to pay for shelter from judgment.

“Alright,” She dropped the leather knife case she had onto her workspace with a hint of moody spite. Both the prisoner and the young necromancer flinched. “This better not take all night, though.”

“It won’t if you hurry up,” a deeper, more somber voice behind the freckly Breton made him nearly jump out of his robes. A tall and willowy Altmer man looked down his nose at Relmyna.

“Ocantir,” Relmyna faked a pleasant smile, like a housewife greeting guests at the door. “Have you seen my work so far? Coming along nicely, isn’t it?”

Ocantir grimaced slightly at the pitiful sight of Relmyna’s test subject. “Really, Verenim. Just put this poor dog out of his misery already, hasn’t he suffered enough?”

“He’ll have to suffer more if he wants to make a significant contribution to the college of restoration.” Relmyna reached toward her tortured victim. “Don’t you want to be an asset to the study of magic, dear? They’ll have your name in the history books, or at least the description of your agony.”

The Altmer sneered as the prisoner flinched away from his sadistic captor. Beside him, the other necromancer looked a bit ill. Relmyna patted the top of the shackled man’s head like a dog.

“See? We’re pals. And if you don’t appreciate my work, you don’t have to come barging into my laboratory. It’s that simple.”

“It’s not that we don’t appreciate your work, it’s just that it isn’t a part of _our_ work.” Ocantir admitted, “We can tolerate your… _eccentric_ ideas only for as long as they don’t put the rest of the coven at risk. What are you going to do if you take a living prisoner and they escape? Or turn on us? At least with the dead we have absolute control.”

“The dead can’t show me what the living can. I can dissect a thousand corpses but never understand flesh in the way I would if I observed it in its living state. You can’t make _this_ on a corpse,” Relmyna grabbed the affected arm of her captive, showing off the scars. “I am on the verge of a breakthrough, Ocantir! I am going to be the one who revolutionizes how we view _life_.”

Ocantir regarded the corrupted arm with barely-contained contempt. “… Be that as it may, your studies aren’t supported by this chapter of the Cult of the Black Worm. They are merely, how do I put this… _harbored._ If they become ambitious enough to pose a threat to the coven, you won’t have us to protect you when the law finally comes down on your head.”

Relmyna kicked at the prisoner, sending him back to his dreary little corner. Her red eyes met Ocantir’s. “You say it like it will.”

“Even necromancers fear death, Relmyna.”

The air was thick with tension, pierced only by the breathing and occasional clink of chains from the captive. The Breton necromancer broke the silence with a polite cough.

“Not to be rude but, we’re running out of moonlight, Ocantir.”

The Altmer lowered his proverbial hackles, straightening himself to regain composure. “Fine. Let’s get on with it, Verenim.”

* * *

 

Exiting through the sewers, Relmyna followed Ocantir’s lead as they tracked across the shores of the island. Looming above them, the walls of the Imperial City looked impregnable and intimidating, a cold gray behemoth dimly illuminated by the moons. Tonight, they would be raiding the small cemetery for the poor that was erected on the Waterfront. It was shabby, poorly placed and poorly guarded from being in a destitute neighborhood. Many of the graves were marked with only a rotting, unmarked board, denoting a beggar that had died with no one to claim them. It was perfect.

“I staked out the site earlier, they buried an old Imperial two days ago. He should still be good, and the ground is still loose. If we make haste, they’ll never know we’re here.” Ocantir sounded sure of himself; he always did, really.

Relmyna was lagging slightly behind in the back, trudging through wet, soft sand and silt. She wasn’t looking forward to having to do any digging. “I don’t see why we can’t just take a few beggars off the street. Nobody would miss them.”

She was met with yet another admonishing glare from Ocantir. “We’re _necromancers_ , not murderers.”

“Well maybe _you’re_ not-”

“Quiet,” The Altmer held up a hand abruptly enough that Relmyna almost stumbled into the muck. Ahead of them, past a short stretch of shallows, the pathetic half-walls of the waterfront cemetery could be seen in the Lake Rumare mists. Being so close to the water, it was not unheard of for the ground to be loose and easy to dig through, with the added danger of the soil eroding away and taking entire coffins out into the lake. Several waterlogged skeletons have been recovered from the surrounding lakebed to prove this, but still the graveyard remained. Besides the obvious displeasure of having to work with a waterlogged corpse on occasion, the graveyard had been a godsend for the coven.

The grave Ocantir had scouted out was still new, the soil upturned and loose from the recent burial, with no time for nature to tamp it down and grow over it again. The gravestone was a new piece of wood, less weathered than the others, and bore no name or epitaph. Another beggar, or some other forgotten soul. Buried haphazardly, too, as they found it was a shallower grave than even by the cemetary’s lackluster standards. The coffin looked new though, and reasonably dry. Relmyna kept watch as Ocantir used the blade of his shovel to pry it open with the squeak of nails being pulled out of wood.

Under the moonlight, Relmyna could just barely make out the corpse without the use of nighteye. Ocantir squinted. “Weird, this guy isn’t dressed like he’s from the waterfront. A bit posh, don’t you think? What’s he doing here?”

Relmyna cast a spell of nighteye, and saw the world with an eerie, greenish glow. The well-kept, dark-colored suit of the corpse marked him as someone far too well-off to settle for a beggar’s cemetery. He looked well-groomed enough to belong in some fancy crypt in Green Emperor Way, with his silver hair and beard so neatly trimmed, his face so carefully preserved to look like he was merely sleeping.

“He doesn’t look like he belongs here.” She leaned in close, getting a better look. “What’s the deal with the septims?”

The corpse had two gold coins over its eyes, yet another detail that seemed bizarrely out of place. Ocantir shrugged.

“I think it’s a High Rock thing, they put septims over the eyes for… entrance into Aetherius or something, I dunno. I raise the dead, not bury them.” He plucked the coins off the body’s face and pocketed them himself, before turning to his partner in crime. “Weird or not, the body’s dry and well-kept. Let’s take it back to base.”

Relmyna hesitated before taking one end of the coffin to lift it out of its previous resting place. Something was wrong, and she couldn’t quite place it, but with Ocantir around she just wanted to get this done and get back to work as soon as possible. Her mind was more on her research than on the lookout for any witnesses to their desecration of the dead. Luckily, there was nobody around to give them trouble as they hauled the coffin back across the sand, leaving only a filled-in grave as proof of their visit. The best part about this cemetery was that nobody would care about one less beggar in the ground.

* * *

 

The bare, wooden coffin was dropped heavily onto the stonework floor. It shattered at the sides, the nails keeping it together coming undone from the strain of the corpse’s weight. Ocantir cursed. Luckily, it only chose to do that at the very last second, and not in the middle of carrying it back. Relmyna wrung her sore hands, and checked them for splinters. Her Altmeri peer kicked the loosened top off easily, revealing the corpse looking just as well preserved as ever.

“Get him on the table; let’s have a look at him.” Ocantir gestured to the other necromancers that hovered around them, eager to see the spoils of their trip. Getting the body onto the stained, sturdy table they used for dissections was an awkward task, with the corpse’s limbs limp and ragdolling everywhere. Relmyna watched with mild amusement as her fellow students struggled to get the body into a dignified position, one of them having such a hard time of it that one of the corpse’s arms managed to limply slap him in the face. These were supposed to be the mysterious, terrifying masters of the dark arts the Worm Cult was famous for.

Under the light of borrowed candelabras, Relmyna could see the state of the body more clearly. He was some sort of human, short enough to be Imperial or Breton, old enough to have gone entirely grey. His suit looked black in all but direct light, where it revealed it was a very dark shade of indigo. He wore some simple silver jewelry, as well, adding to the impression that this was some deceased nobleman. He was remarkably well preserved for anyone said to have been buried yesterday, let alone buried in the Waterfront. The rest of the necromancers seemed just as confused as she did.

One of the students of the dark arts gave Relmyna an incredulous look. “Namira’s teat, Verenim! Did you kill him yourself?”

“He is pretty fresh, but no. We got him out of the Waterfront.” Ocantir did a cursory examination, digging into the pockets of the body’s dark suit, patting the body down for anything it was buried with to no success. “I’d guess he was a murder, or something. He’s too fancy for where we got him.”

 “I’ve heard about this, actually,” One necromancer spoke up, “Where a mortuary sells a family a high-class plot for their loved one, but just dump the body and pocket the drakes. Rinse and repeat.”

“And I thought _we_ disrespected the dead,” Ocantir joked. No one laughed.

Relmyna hung out in the sidelines as the rest of her morbid peers began to discuss preparations and uses they had in mind for their newest acquisition. She had other things on her mind, most notably her own experiments to get back to. Since she had her fun with the last corpse they brought in, she probably wouldn’t get a turn with this one until everyone else had anyways. Her coven barely noticed as she excused herself, slinking back into the shadows awkwardly to resume her work. Maybe someday, she’d have the connections and resources to hold a more legitimate lab without the sharing of bodies and tools amongst her brethren, and especially without their criticism.

 

Her research was at a critical and messy point as she reached the ‘tissue examination’ stage. The scars that she coaxed from her test subject’s flesh were cut out of the man’s body with inexperienced hands. It was a painful and bloody ordeal, almost more so than the tests he had gone through to create them. By the end, large chunks were cut out of the prisoner’s arm, taking care to avoid major arteries and tendons. Regardless, he may never use that arm again. Relmyna considered just cutting it off, but she wanted further study to come of attempting to regrow the flesh that was taken. Overwhelmed by the agony and blood loss, the test subject passed out, leaving Relmyna with her work and her thoughts.

‘ _Experiment log: 5 th of Rain’s Hand, on the 163rd year of the Third Era,_’ She wrote in careful, fine cursive in her private logbook. ‘ _14 th day of flesh regrowth studies. Subject was harvested of the aforementioned tissue samples, but the night is running out, so I may not have time to dissect them before classes._’

She rubbed her eyes wearily in a moment of vulnerability, only to curse when she got blood in one of them. She continued to write even while dabbing her watering eye with her sleeve.

‘ _On a cursory examination, the flesh has regrown much thicker in consistency, with the surface forming smooth and hairless. The dark color was not the product of surface blood vessels as previously hypothesized. I should compare these samples with any similar cases documented in the library. On that note, I must remember to check out any further research material in the library during the Sundas-Loredas librarian’s shift. She is less suspicious of me._ ’

I between stints of note-taking, Relmyna spent the wee hours of the morning cutting her tissue samples, dividing them into smaller portions to preserve in jars of a serviceable, home-made preservative. She planned out her the future steps in her work, occasionally adding in a tangent of an idea or an idle musing that stole away her attention. She was getting tired, and it was becoming harder to focus on the task at hand. When she no longer heard the soft echoes of her peers in the other parts of the sewers, she gathered that she had been left alone. The other necromancers were all fellow students, and they had lives to get back to. They couldn’t very well go on all night when they had classes the next day. In truth, Relmyna was finding her own schooling less and less useful as she turned to her private research. Classes were just an alibi now, a double life that was necessary for a novice necromancer to uphold.

With her concentration waning with her exhaustion, Relmyna began to wrap up her work; putting her tools away, refilling the food dish of her test subject and snuffing out the lights. Rune traps were cast at the entrance, to ensure that if her mutilated captive tried to escape, he certainly wouldn’t get far. The robes she wore, the stereotypical black shrouds of the Worm Cult, were pulled off. Her dress was clean and unassuming underneath, and she hoped the stench of death hadn’t soaked into it. She had to look like she spent an all-nighter reading, rather than an all-nighter torturing and graverobbing.

As she was the last to leave the sewers for the night, Relmyna took it upon herself to snuff out any remaining candles, and place more cautionary runes at the agreed-upon locations for security purposes. So far they’ve only had rats for intruders, but it was well known that adventurers and dungeon divers would occasionally delve into the sewers because of smuggling rumors, or just for the thrill. Though she thought she had already blown them out, the candelabras illuminating their newest corpse still lit up the main chamber. She must have been more tired than she thought.

Her gaze fell on the dead man on the table. He really _was_ well preserved, in an almost uncanny manner. She found herself trying to feel for pulse, and checking major artery sites of places they could have injected embalming fluid. Remarkably, he seemed to be undamaged. Perfect. Existing in the liminal state between life and decay. He had no pulse, but his face was still colored by blood, and not by the makeup used by morticians. Relmyna peered closer, searching for any tells of life or death on the man’s face.

In her drowsiness, she found herself muttering aloud, “You don’t even look dead to me,”

The corpse’s eyes snapped open and he replied, “Was I really doing _that_ bad of a job?”

Relmyna screamed, and let loose an arc of lightening from her fingertips out of defensive reflex. The formerly dead man sat up on the table, laughing as electricity made his jewelry spark and his hair stand on end.

“Really! I must have been _terrible!_ This is the most scathing review I’ve gotten yet!” He patiently waited, a warm smile on his face even though the top of his head started to smoke. He would surely have been dead by now, with the kind of voltage Relmyna was running through him. Ever stubborn, she continued to concentrate on the spell until her exhaustion got the better of her. The spell fizzled out from her fatigue, and she found herself struggling to stay upright. The man just sat there, unharmed.

“Are you quite done yet?” He asked.

“… Yes,” Relmyna conceded. She was bent over, gripping her knees for leverage as she wrestled with a bout of lightheadedness from magicka depletion. Her head started to hurt, overtaxed from the display of magic while already so tired. Her seemingly immortal victim held out a helpful hand. She drew back from it like it was a blade.

“What the _hell_ are you?”

The man stood over her prone form, and it made him look far more imposing that he actually was. In truth, as Relmyna righted herself she found that he was shorter than she was; a stout old Cyrodiilic man, entirely unassuming, save for having just chuckled off several thousand volts of electricity and having the predatory, slitted pupils of a cat. He seemed somewhat nonplussed by her question.

“Honestly, you’re _awful_ at simple greetings, miss! Not a very good impression, what with the kidnapping and the manhandling and the awful _rude_ comments your comrades made at my expense,” The man smoothed a hand over his slicked-back hair, smoothing out any stray strands the lightening disheveled.

“ _Kidnapping?_ ” Relmyna echoed, “You were _buried!_ ”

“I’ll have you _know_ that I was taking a _dirt nap!_ And I was having a very nice time before you hooligans carted me off!” The man bellowed loud enough to echo off the walls. If they weren’t so securely underground, Relmyna would have worried about this strange individual drawing attention.

“Well, pardon _me, sir,_ ” Relmyna put on a mocking tone, her initial shock and confusion quickly distilling into pure irritation. “But when someone is in a coffin buried in a cemetery, we tend to make assumptions about that person’s mortality.”

“You need to open your mind then, dear. Don’t make assumptions about people.” The man matched the ire in her voice, but the grin on his face told her that he was _absolutely_ fucking with her. Relmyna was having absolutely _none_ of this, jabbing a finger into the stranger’s chest.

“Enough! Who in Oblivion _are_ you?!”

The man scoffed, looking incredulously around him as if to confide his offense with an audience that wasn’t there. “Who am I? _Who_ am _I??_ What are they teaching you kids these days if you don’t even know who I am? Didn’t your mam warn you about the Four Corners of the House of Troubles? The Lord of the Never-There, the Mad Star, the Skooma Cat? Do I need to spell it out for you, luv?”

Puzzle pieces fit together perfectly in Relmyna’s mind. She was a fool to not recognize him sooner. “…Sheogorath.”

Sheogorath applauded her heartily, like she was some form of trite entertainment. “Got it in one go! Good job!!”

Relmyna was speechless, all of the indignation and anger draining from her along with the color from her face for one moment of fright and awe. It didn’t last long.

“… I don’t care _who_ you are, what am I going to tell the rest of the coven that their newest corpse just sat up and declared himself the prince of madness, hmm? They’ll have my head if I lost their only body!”

“Well you didn’t lose me, luv. I’m right here.” The Daedra was still grinning, thoroughly entertained. “And your corpse predicament isn’t the only trouble you’re in. Have you turned around lately? You should do that.”

“What–?” Relmyna looked behind her fast enough to strain her neck. At first glance, she couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary, but then the soft scuffling gave it away. Her prisoner, in the commotion, had attempted to escape and was making better progress than Relmyna figured he would, having evaded the rune traps and snuck behind her even with his grievous injuries. He froze like a frightened deer when he was spotted, and before Relmyna could unleash hell upon him he bolted straight for the exit.

“ _No!!_ ” Relmyna barked, more an order than an exclamation. She dove over the table she had once kept Sheogorath on in a bold attempt to catch up, but with her own lack of agility she ended up somersaulting onto the floor. In her tumble, she still let out a jagged fork of lightening hot on the captive’s heels, and it hit him square in the back. He tripped, landing hard on the stonework, and Relmyna crawled after him. Sheogorath found the sight of the two mortals desperately wrestling on the floor of the sewer especially hilarious.

The human was weak from Relmyna’s torture, but all his pent up hatred fueled his final desperate struggle, his good hand grabbing her neck and attempting to squeeze. Failing to follow through with that, he took to beating her. Relmyna let out a guttural scream, primal and truly furious, and sunk her nails into the mutilated man’s bare chest. Energy coursed through her, lighting up the space between them with a deafening crack.

Sheogorath, watching from the sidelines, stepped over curiously as the two bodies went limp at once. Relmyna was slumped over the prisoner, overtaxed and at the edge of unconsciousness, but the test subject beneath her lay dead and still. She regarded the fresh corpse with only mild disappointment.

“Dammit, I still had plans for you. Ah, well. That’s what you get.”

With some difficulty, she untangled herself from the body. In their struggle the prisoner had given her a black eye and a bloody nose that both throbbed, but it only made her feel alive, awake. Both she and Sheogorath observed the fresh corpse for a moment of respite.

The Daedra Lord was first to speak up. “Well, you can’t say your coven doesn’t have a body now, at least.”

“True,” Relmyna mumbled. She wiped her bleeding nose with her sleeve. Sheogorath reached into his breast pocket to withdraw a clean white handkerchief.

“You know what’s funny?” He asked casually, reaching to tend to Relmyna’s wounds himself. She swatted him away again, snatching the kerchief from his hand instead. He allowed it. “The poor sod actually prayed to me, in his voiceless language of clicking and tapping. We scratched out all sorts of conversations together. He wrote me letters begging for deliverance in the food you gave him, his blood, his waste,”

He gave the body a doleful look, like someone who had just lost a pet goldfish, rather than a follower. “Thought I might help him out, give him a chance. But only one! One he might not survive, and he understood.”

“Oh,” Relmyna said softly. “I’m… sorry?”

Sheogorath looked at her. No, looked _through_ her, through every layer of clever acting and manipulation she hid behind, through to the rotten core of her sadism laid bare in the form of the fallen man before them. A smile crept onto his lips, the slits of his catlike eyes narrowing into sly, black lines.

“Sorry? Haha, no, don’t be. He was weak, don’t you see? Ambitious, sure, but if he couldn’t kill a scrawny mage girl with only his one good arm, I’d say he deserved his fate. No, I told him I’d provide a distraction, plain and simple, and the rest was on him. Can’t say the wretch didn’t try, eh?”

“…So _that’s_ why you were in the cemetery! You knew we’d pick you up and bring you right in!”

“Quite a scheme wasn’t it? I found it rather funny, at least. I was planning on making it a big scene; make a bunch of guild students piss their robes with a grand entrance, place a few bullshit curses.” Sheogorath chuckled, just thinking about it. “I would have put on a fantastic act, too! But ah, I found myself distracted.”

Relmyna tried to read the Daedra to no avail, unable to discern the look on his face. He watched her wipe blood onto his pristine kerchief. She spied a small purple _A. S._ embroidered at the hem.

“I could watch you work for _hours_ , you know,” Sheogorath admitted with a smile that made her bristle. Relmyna, though her eye had swollen slightly and her nose felt like a throbbing, closed-up knot of flesh on her face, she tried to retain her regal sorcerer’s composure.

“I see,”

“I don’t think you actually see, no,” Sheogorath reached towards her, and she froze. Relief washed over as he only brushed away a disheveled lock of her hair. “If I knew you were conducting such _innovative_ research, perhaps I wouldn’t have conspired on the wrong side all along!”

Oh. “Oh, Well uh, thank you, sir,” Relmyna’s delicate sense of composure seemed to have left her with one singular, imaginary blow to the chest. Her face grew hot. She thought she was dying, but Sheogorath just chuckled in his warm, gravelly voice and gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“So, my bad I guess! I’ll make it up to you, ‘k? Wouldn’t want you to fail that essay of yourn.”

“Oh… a-alright,”

“Good!” Sheogorath gave her a clap on the back that nearly knocked her down before turning on his heel, stepping daintily over the fallen corpse of his former apparent follower. Relmyna was still recovering from him touching her, quietly in shock as the weight of this whole situation was still sinking in properly. She watched Sheogorath give her a final wink before turning and disappearing down the maze of sewer tunnels beyond the lab.

“I look forward to the results, Miss Verenim.”


	4. 4 [no warning]

Relmyna dreaded the difficult confrontation with her coven that she’d inevitably face as soon as they all met up after classes. There was simply no way to make the events that transpired the night before sound convincing. Of all the Daedric Princes, why did it have to be Sheogorath? She couldn’t very well just tell her peers that their newest corpse turned out to be the prince of madness, who casually walked out of the sewers after complimenting her and giving her his handkerchief. Relmyna would have been sure it was a particularly bizarre dream, if she didn’t wake up the following afternoon with the bloodied cloth still clutched in her hand.

The puzzling encounter left her so exhausted that she overslept well into the day, and had to pass it off as illness. She feigned a cold while asking Llathise to pass on her apologies to her teachers, and took the day off to recuperate in her dorm and plan a convincing string of lies to explain their corpse’s absence, and why her dead test subject took its place.

“My test subject made an escape attempt shortly before I was about to lock up, and attacked me. In our struggle, the corpse we had exhumed caught aflame from my spells, and ended up so badly burnt I had to throw it out.”

Relmyna looked as earnestly as she could into her mirror; practicing her most forlorn expressions, trying to get that perfect balance of vulnerability and responsibility.

“As you can see, I have replaced it with the body of my former subject. I know it is not a sufficient compensation, but I can assure you that I will make it up to the coven, and obtain another fresh corpse to use as you all wish. Two, even! I am very sorry for letting this coven down.”

She ended her apology with an eager grin, only to withdraw it immediately. No, no, she looked too happy there. She went with a more timid little look; she had to prostrate herself before her coven, after all. She had to let them know they were in charge.

“I am very sorry for letting this coven down. No, I am _very_ sorry, for letting this coven down. I’m so sorry for letting this coven down!! I’ll do better!!” Relmyna groaned, she sounded like a fool. Worse, when she put enough false enthusiasm into her voice, she sounded like Llathise. But it was necessary, if she wanted to keep her sanctuary within the group of necromancers. They were the only ones who would take her in, the only ones who could possibly understand her passions. Why did she still have to lie and put on false airs, even for them?

Relmyna jumped when there was a knock at her door, throwing off her act. She cracked the door open just slightly, and nearly recoiled when Ocantir’s sickly yellow face filled her narrow line of sight.

“Not in class, I see?” Ocantir’s query didn’t have the sympathetic tones of someone actually concerned for her. “Is this going to… cut into our club activities later?”

Relmyna opened the door just a little bit more; loathe to have to reveal the still significant bruises on her face. “I have a cold. I couldn’t concentrate on school today.”

Ocantir’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Did your cold give you that shiner?”

“It’s been a very bad cold.”

“By gods, a joke. You must really be sick, then.”

“Don’t you have some preening to do, Ocantir? Maybe discuss infanticide with your Summerset peers? Because I’m not in the mood.” Relmyna closed the door a little more so all Ocantir could see is her glaring, red eye. Unfortunately, it obscured her vision towards more pressing matters. It didn’t dawn on her why Ocantir’s face suddenly softened and he backed off in a polite manner until Llathise’s brilliant smile blocked him from view.

“Good afternoon, sleepyhead! I went ahead and gathered up today’s homework from conjuration, it’s nothing you can’t handle, really.” Llathise tried to slip a packet of folded parchment through the crack in the door rather clumsily. Relmyna struggled to grab it and keep the door from opening at the same time.

“Thank you sister,” Relmyna put a throat-scratching harshness into her voice, “I’m sorry but its best if you leave, I don’t want you catching my cold.”

Through the narrow window she had into the hallway, she glimpsed Llathise’s mock-admonishing, arms-akimbo stance with her coy smile. “Really? Because you don’t seem to have any problem _talking to boys_ in your condition.”

Relmyna cringed as Ocantir smirked immediately at that, an evil glint in his eye. The Altmer bowed in an informal Summerset style.

“My lady, I don’t believe we have met! I was just giving Miss Verenim her missed materials from Applied Destruction. You know how she is; she hates missing _that_ one. I’m her study partner, Ocantir of Firsthold.”

Llathise blushed demurely. “Oh, I didn’t know ‘Myna had friends! I’m Llathise, her sister.”

There was a careful exchange in their eyes, whether subconscious or not. Relmyna could see it. The false charm and softness to the high elf’s smile. The dilated pupils of interest in her sister’s red eyes. Whatever it was, Relmyna wanted it to stop _immediately_.

“Ocantir was just leaving,” Relmyna interjected, pausing to fake a sniffle. Luckily, her bruised nose meant she was already feeling rather congested. “I appreciate your concern, really, but I would like to rest now.”

“Please feel better soon, let me know if you need me to have you excused again tomorrow.” Llathise gave her a sympathetic little smile, and Ocantir a broader, eye-crinkling grin as she said her quiet goodbyes. Ocantir saw her off with a little wave and a nod. It was all carefully orchestrated – like Relmyna’s own motions.

With Llathise appropriately out of earshot, Relmyna could open the door enough to give Ocantir an eyeful of bruised face, glaring at him despite her still somewhat swollen eye.

“Stay away from her, Ocantir.”

“Or you’ll what?” Ocantir looked down on her, as he looked down on everyone. “You’ll jeopardize your scholarship by causing the disappearance of a fellow student? Don’t be stupid, Verenim. I don’t care about your sister; I just feel sorry that she’s related to _you_.”

“I mean it, scrib-sucker. Unlike you and me, she’s _innocent_. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“I never saw you as a familial type,” Ocantir took a half-step forward, craning his neck over her to peek into her shared dorm. “Is she your cover story, or do you actually have a heart underneath all that… _Relmyna-ness_?”

“Don’t make me answer that.” Relmyna loosened her iron grip on the doorframe and stepped aside, inviting him in. Ocantir seemed surprised at the gesture, and entered cautiously; it made it satisfying when she closed the door with a slam and he jumped in response.

“I have a confession to make,” Relmyna admitted softly. She bowed her head, as she decided on earlier. Her collection of cover stories ran through her head. What would be the best for this current situation? What would make the most sense?

In that moment, Relmyna forgot everything she rehearsed, and looked at Ocantir with the wide, frightened eyes of a sheep.

“There was,” She began, her eyes not very subtly looking around the room for some sort of assistance. Her gaze fell on a library book detailing Molag Bal’s involvement with the worm cult.

“There was a vampire. In the hideout. The corpse we exhumed last night was a vampire.”

“A vampire.” Ocantir’s voice was utterly flat.

“Yes. Of course, it attacked me as soon as it woke up, so I had to dispatch it with fire; as is recommended.”

“A vampire buried itself in the waterfront and let a couple of necromancers take it all the way back home, before attacking.”

“It was clearly a carefully measured decision on its part,” Relmyna matched the Altmer’s serious look. “It waited to pick off the solitary straggler. You should be glad it was me or else you’d have a dead student on your hands.”

“At least if I had a dead student, I’d have a _fresh corpse_ ,” Ocantir reared up to his full height only to lean down again, close enough to Relmyna to give her no choice other than eye contact. “And if I find out you’ve nicked our body to play doctor with, _you_ are going to be the student in question.”

“I would never lie to this coven,” Relmyna lied, “I was just doing what I could to protect it. You know that body was far too well-preserved to _truly_ be dead.”

Ocantir straightened up again, pausing to run his hand through his greasy hair as he looked up to the gods to grant him patience. “Yes, yes, alright. We’ll talk about this later; I have classes to get to and a coven to _console_ now.”

“I am very sorry for letting this coven down,” Relmyna performed her practiced line with a bit less liveliness than she wanted. She faintly wondered if her expression looked disingenuous because she was lying, or if it was because every time she was forced to refer to a ‘coven’ she fought back the urge to roll her eyes. This wasn’t a coven by any measure; this was a pack of curious children pretending to be iconoclasts with powers far beyond their control. She wouldn’t dare tell Ocantir that, though. It would hurt his fragile pride.

The Altmer looked her up and down, but not through her. “I hope you’re planning on making it up to us. That ‘test subject’ you were so fond of isn’t fit for more than a skeleton.”

“I’ll make it up to you twofold if you’ll forgive me, I promise.” Relmyna gave him a solid moment of eye contact, with some difficulty on her part.

Ocantir kept his eye on her as he passed her by, on his way out the door. “I’ll need to see results from that first, Verenim.”

The air in the room was rife with tension even after he left, closing the door behind him. Relmyna found herself so rigid from her nerves that she forgot to ask him to give her the homework for their shared enchanting class.

Dammit.

* * *

 

That tension between them did not leave for some time. Relmyna got a thorough admonishing and her fair share of guilt-tripping from the rest of the coven, though some of the more naïve members seemed impressed by her ‘vampire’ story. Even with Ocantir’s skepticism, the group opinion of her was one of quiet admiration. Her experiments and ideas were either fascinating, intimidating, or both. Ocantir had to be the only one who saw them as neither, and that was becoming a problem.

Outside of her inner circle, another issue was looming overhead. She had lost a lot of time and resources that went into her essay; if she was going to start on a new test subject, she would have to do it as soon as possible. The process of wounding and repairing to get the desired results was time-consuming enough. Her studies were halted without a live subject, and her relationship with her necromancer peers was becoming strained the longer she took to fulfill her promise to Ocantir. Even when the coven had replaced the empty table with their own graverobbing results, there was still pressure on for Relmyna to make good on her promise. As this was personal matter of redemption, nobody was going to help her.

Well, almost nobody.

Relmyna’s bruises were barely noticeable on her dusky gray face after a couple days, as she recovered enough magicka to heal them. She was already a bit of a recluse, so her absence was barely acknowledged. Her teachers commended her on her diligence in completing her work while ‘sick’, but otherwise hardly gave her their attention or even asked how she was doing. She preferred that, honestly. She needed it, with the hobbies she practiced and the company she kept. Walking around the university grounds, she felt like a ghost as she blended in with her peers. It was the weekend, and a number of students chose to go out on the town to unwind, making it the perfect cover for Relmyna to make her move.

 

She researched extensively to find the right place. It had to be quiet – but not too quiet, as that would draw attention to her. It had to be low on security, but not so low that she had to fear being mugged on her way home. Most of all, it had to be nice; there just wasn’t any way she could pull this off in a dive bar. In the Elven Gardens, a hole in the wall inn that had a modest business fulfilled these requirements sufficiently. It was going to be a busy night, so she wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb. Relmyna put her hair up and dabbed some of the ashen powder Llathise used for blemishes on the faint traces of bruising around her eye, and a few other areas for good measure. She even dabbed a bit of red on her lips, as was the fashion among the Imperials and Bretons. It didn’t feel comfortable nor did it make her feel pretty, but the sense of ritual to it felt like a step in the right direction.

Like a ghost, Relmyna was barely noticed as she entered the inn. The dining room was half full at most; mostly travelers and regulars gravitating to the bar. None of them had her attention, and she had none of theirs; just the way she liked it. In fact, she was so content with the lack of attention she attracted that when someone did flag her down, her composure broke briefly.

In a quiet, otherwise unoccupied corner of the room, Sheogorath sat clear as day in a booth, like any other customer waiting for service. Nobody else in the room seemed to notice him, and that worried Relmyna, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. The other side of the booth seemed to be intended for her, nestled in the corner so she wouldn’t have her back to anybody, as she preferred.

As she slid into her seat, the Daedra acknowledged her with a smile like he’d been waiting for her, but not for too terribly long. Today he wore more vibrant, wine-colored hues; flamboyant enough to make Telvanni aristocrats blush but worn with enough confidence that she couldn’t really see him in anything else. His catlike eyes were alight with amusement, as he seemed focused on Relmyna, moreso than she was used to. Not wanting to come off as rude to an omnipresent god, she managed an uncomfortable “Hi.”

“Hello dear,” The Mad God purred, “Good morning; or evening, or whichever you so prefer.”

“It’s… evening,” Relmyna trailed off, unsure, before remembering who she was talking to. “That doesn’t matter. You said you’d ‘make it up to me’ for last week, and I’ve come to collect.”

“Oh, straight to the point, are we? Direct, like a knife. Like your knives, I presume. Excuse me,” Sheogorath momentarily turned his attention to hailing the waitress. Relmyna squirmed uncomfortably as a human maiden carrying a pitcher of ale sashayed over to their table to take their order. The girl looked Sheogorath right in the eye with no hesitation, no revelation that he might be anyone other than a regular customer.

“I’ll have a Dancing Grandma, miss; and you?” Sheogorath turned to Relmyna, and she froze. The waitress looked at her expectantly. She didn’t prepare for this.

“…Same?” She blurted out. The girl just nodded with a smile and went off to another table, business as usual. Relmyna let out a shaky breath, like she just stitched up her own wound.

“Out of your element, are we?” Nothing seemed to get past the Daedra in front of her, with his jewel-adorned and manicured fingers steepled in front of his sly smile. Relmyna straightened herself, all too consciously.

“You seem to have that effect on people, in all fairness.”

“You got me there,” Sheogorath showed off subtle fangs as he grinned and chuckled. “Still, for someone who prides themselves on being an actor, you sure do stumble when something breaks your character.”

“An actor?” Relmyna recognized what he meant, but hearing it aloud took her aback; which was probably what he meant in the first place. “I’m merely trying to live my life; doesn’t everyone have to act in a façade of normalcy?”

“There shouldn’t have to be a façade at all. Do you see _me_ disguising myself around your lot? When you realize there’s no such thing as normalcy, luv, you’ll find yourself blending in quite well with it.”

“You’re a god; you’re obviously using a glamour,” Relmyna narrowed her eyes. Sheogorath laughed off her suspicion, but his expression was as sincere as ever.

“Not everyone has to ‘act’, because not everyone feels they need to. Now, does your need for a façade mean you have the advantage, or vice versa?”

Relmyna looked him in his inhuman eyes, locked in an internal debate over his question. The waitress interrupted by serving their drinks, with oh so convenient timing.

The ‘Dancing Grandma’, whatever it was, was served in an inconspicuously small and narrow glass, colored an opaque green. Relmyna had maybe three sips of alcohol in her life and she hated each one of them; she wasn’t one for impairing her judgment. Sheogorath, of course, downed his in one hearty chug, slamming the now-empty glass back down with emphasis. After a moment of consideration, Relmyna took the daintiest, most half-hearted sip she could, and grimaced at the tartness. Sheogorath seemed to find that particularly amusing, tittering at the face she made.

“Ah, the things we do to please others, eh?”

“No, I wanted this. This is fine.” Relmyna’s voice came out a bit strained as she suppressed a gag. She felt as though this taste would be imprinted on her tongue for years to come. Sheogorath’s chuckling continued as he flagged down the waitress again.

“Get this poor girl a proper glass of water, eh?” He reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out a few ten-drake coins to unceremoniously drop them into the generous crevice of the serving girl’s cleavage. The Daedra took Relmyna’s barely touched drink for himself without even asking her, gulping that down as well with a satisfied sigh and a rough wipe of his mouth with his sleeve.

“Now, let’s get down to business, shall we? Just what did you intend for me to do to ‘ _make it up to you_ ’, as you’ve so boldly stated?”

“I’m out a corpse _and_ a test subject because of your meddling,” Relmyna paused as a plain glass of water was placed in front of her. She couldn’t help but take a desperate, satisfying swig to wash her mouth out before composing herself once more. “My coven’s self-appointed leader demands a tribute and my essay is coming up, with the work I need only half finished. I can find a corpse and I can kidnap a new subject, but I can’t do both in a timely manner.”

“Spread a lil’ thin, huh?” Sheogorath stroked the point of his beard with his thumb and forefinger. “Hmm. I’ll make you a deal, here. I’ll take one, and you’ll take the other. We finish this in one fell swoop tonight, and both our debts will be paid. Sound good?”

“Deal,” Relmyna nodded in compliance.

“But,” Sheogorath’s voice turned into a darker, more serious growl, sending a chill down the Dunmer’s back. The room seemed to grow a little colder, a little darker. “You should know that asking something of a Daedra is nothing to take lightly. How certain are you that you’re going to step out of this with your mortal soul intact?”

In the moment of silence between them, with the hum of activity in the dining room strangely muffled, Relmyna internalized what he said. Not of his warning, or the inherent danger of their deal and their very meeting, but something else that stuck to her mind and threatened to fester within.

“While I appreciate that you believe I have a soul,” She allowed herself a small smile, “I can assure you; I only care for my work and wish to get on with it. I would prefer to be a part of as few inner politics and Daedric affairs as possible.”

When Sheogorath smirked, it felt like all the light and warmth returned to the room, even if there was still a serious and sinister air about him. “Ready to get your hands messy again, hmm?”

“All discoveries tend to be a little messy,” Relmyna cast her gaze down to the glass in her hand. A bit of the paint on her lips had worn off into the water of her drink, and her keen elven eyes could see the faintest trace of red disappearing into the liquid. “Surely being on the cusp of something big would make the biggest mess of all.”

Sheogorath’s eyes lit up with a coy fascination, like a cat that had something dangled in front of it. “Oh? On the verge of a breakthrough, are we? _Do tell_.”

Relmyna, in all her secrecy and disconnect with others, didn’t quite expect someone to show such interest. For all intents and purposes, her work was to satisfy her own curiosity and desires. It occurred to her that maybe she had a single, captivated fan after all.

“Perhaps I am,” She mused, running her finger over the rim of her glass as she mulled over the jumble of data she had collected over time. “Unlike my peers, I am not interested in death as much as I am with life, as well as the thin barrier that separates the two. Did you know that the muscles of a body will still twitch, when struck with electricity in the right places? This isn’t mere necromancy; this is a fact of life. Our flesh is a life-force all its own, and we understand so little of it while it’s still alive.”

“Ah, of course,” Sheogorath twiddled the corner of his mustache, smiling sincerely. It encouraged his companion, who felt a welling of excitement in her chest. There was _so much_ she never managed to tell anybody.

“I believe that the flesh we inhabit is more powerful than the soul; it has more potential, more applications. Souls do not have corporeal forms, and their state of being appears to be unchanging; they cannot grow in power, and you cannot ‘grow’ a soul. But you can grow flesh – a living, breathing, _bleeding_ thing that I believe doesn’t even _need_ a soul to truly function. _Flesh_ is life in its purest form, and _Pain_ is the proof of its mortality.”

The Daedra’s smile turned predatory, though the delighted glint in his eye never left. “You sound like you’re _quite acquainted_ with that part, aren’t you?”

Relmyna’s breath caught in her throat as her cheeks burned, feeling stripped bare for all of a second as she let her passions slip in front of the Daedric Prince.

“Sometimes… self-experimentation is necessary,” She admitted, certain that she was blushing in a dark purplish hue. “Though it does grant a deeper, more personal understanding of the subject… in my opinion, at least.”

Sheogorath chuckled again, and the knowing look in his eye chilled the mere mortal in front of him. “Discovery isn’t always a straight line, lass. There’s no path in front of you, and how you forge ahead is your own will.”

Relmyna nodded, appreciating the positive support, even if it felt new and overwhelming. She could almost forget it was coming from a Daedra, let alone _this_ particular Prince. Sheogorath’s scruffy face split into a broad and mischievous grin.

“…Can’t say I ever found a genius who took such _gratification_ from their work, though. Ha!”

Relmyna’s heart skipped a beat as Sheogorath bust into a hearty, loud laugh at her expense, delighting in her flustering as she struggled to save face. “It’s not like _that_ , I can assure you!”

Sheogorath’s laughing died down to a shrill tittering as he composed himself, a little pink in the face himself in a moment Relmyna observed as very mortal in nature. “Ah, there’s nothing wrong with that, now! You’re just passionate; people don’t tend to understand passion, but I think you do. You just don’t know it yet.”

There was something genuine in his look, a spark of interest that Relmyna wasn’t used to seeing saved for her. Just being able to speak of her work and her interests positively was something new altogether. It took the wind out of her, but she felt exhilarated. She felt validated, for once; perhaps for the first time in her life. Somebody was looking her in the eye and acknowledging what she did, and who she was.

“Thank you… Sir.” Relmyna bowed her head slightly, showing respect in the few ways she picked up from others. In truth, she had no idea how to show proper respect to a Daedric Prince. This was the last kind of support she expected to receive.

“If you make a mess as big as you say, I might have to drop by,” Sheogorath winked cheekily. Relmyna couldn’t tell if he was making an innuendo or not. He slid out of the booth, and Relmyna followed suit, unsure of whether it was more respectful to do so or not. The Prince of Madness bowed to her cordially, accentuating just how much taller she really was compared to him.

“I will have a fine and healthy test subject on your doorstep by tomorrow, Aurmazl’s honor!”

“Oh! Uh. Please don’t _actually_ put it on my doorstep. I live in a dorm.”

That sent Sheogorath into a laughing fit again. “Of course! I’ll put it on your friend’s doorstep, then.” He flashed Relmyna a smile even she could admit was charming, but not by too much.

“Ta-ta, now! Try not to get your fair self arrested.”

When he disappeared into the crowd of bar regulars, Relmyna could feel a change in the atmosphere. She became all too aware of being surrounded by strangers she didn’t understand who made her keep up a façade of normalcy, in a world that expected her to maintain it to her dying breath. It was cold and bleak, and she felt alone, for once.


	5. 5 [gore, self-harm, mind control/manipulation]

Relmyna left the inn in a strange mood; halfway between disoriented and dissociated, adrenaline pumping from her nerves and fueling an excitement usually reserved for her ‘hands on’ studies. Perhaps, this was the effect Sheogorath had on people. Perhaps Relmyna was simply eager to get back to work. In a bold decision, she took the long way home; a shadowy and compact series of backstreets between the Elven Gardens and the Temple districts. The highlight of living in such a city was that darkened, quiet streets like the one she made her way down were a buffet to people like her. There were many types who wouldn’t be missed; beggars, laborers, thieves. The farther she strode into their territory, the more likely she was going to find that perfect future missing person.

She didn’t need to look very hard. They quite literally walked up to her, eagerly, their eyes on her coin purse and the neckline of her blouse. A scruffy human hunched over in a defensive slink, a hand on a dagger’s hilt in a practiced stance that would allow minimal ground to cross between his blade and her neck.

“Well?” his eyes shifted around, trying to gauge the situation like he was the one being preyed upon. “You know how this goes, miss.”

Relmyna was in a good enough mood to smile very slightly, not that anyone could really see it in the dark. “Straight to the point, are we?”

She heard no footsteps, nor the soft rustle of leather or the metallic _shink_ of a blade drawn behind her. They were alone, as far as she could tell. The robber was bold enough to drop his façade of normalcy in this private moment. Relmyna itched to have her turn.

She made the motions of reaching for her purse, keeping her eyes locked with her assailant. He was jumpy and impatient; anticipating sudden movement, waiting for her to put up a fight. How many scenarios of this had he played out in his head? Enough that he seemed surprised, almost relived, in the very brief moment of her giving him her purse willingly.

The coin purse, in the popular middle-class imperial style, had a metal frame giving it its shape. Predictably, the robber grabbed one end of it; in the split second moment it would take for Relmyna to channel a shock through her fingers. Without the necessary preparation and concentration, it was hardly a spell; it was more of a sparking discharge, singeing both their finger tips and sending the purse tumbling to the ground. The thief was distracted just long enough to flinch back and curse, but it was more than enough time to seal his fate.

Relmyna wasn’t a very strong or agile woman, but she didn’t really need to be to punch him in the throat. The impact against his adam’s apple kept him off guard enough for a bold reach for his knife. It was liberated from him with only a gash across Relmyna’s fingers; something that made her eyes light up and blood rush to her ears. What started out as calculated self defense turned sloppy and passionate in an instant. Blade pointed inwards in her bloodied fist, Relmyna had the perfect opportunity to slash upward, slicing his neck and sending a spray of red over the both of them. The robber gurgled his final words as he fell backwards from his would-be victim, and it was over all too quickly for the both of them.

The sounds of dead weight tumbling to the cobblestone quickly faded into the dull stillness of the night, and left only Relmyna’s quickened pace and short pants. Pain arced up her arm from the cuts in her hand, pulsing with every heartbeat and dripping more blood onto the pavement. Every throb was another second she felt alive – truly alive – as though she had been asleep for ages. It wasn’t until the first slice against her fingers that the veil had been lifted, and revealed that she was pent up in so many ways. Creatively. Cerebrally. Viscerally. There were a lot of reasons she could have lingered with this fresh, dripping corpse for a moment more, but the tugging nag of her responsibilities in the back of her mind set her to work.

It was going to be a long, messy walk back to the coven’s hideout.

* * *

 

“I told you, Verenim; making your own corpse is more trouble than its worth.”

Ocantir looked down his nose at Relmyna, scowling at her distracted gaze. She was more interested in watching her peers strip down and prepare the fallen thief’s body. The fatal wound to his neck was crusted with dark, congealing blood, and began to pucker slightly in its post-mortem state.

“Are you listening to me?” The Altmer forced her attention back to him. He seemed to notice Relmyna’s eyes were wide with fascination, pupils dilated and dark against the red rim of the irises. She would have looked innocent, if she was her sister, and that uncanny resemblance didn’t sit well with Ocantir. Likewise, Ocantir’s staring didn’t sit well with her.

“I got the job done, didn’t I? Now can we drop this petty drama and get back to work?”

“I’m just trying to keep this coven’s safety in mind. And yours, shockingly enough.” Ocantir sighed, noting the half-healed injury Relmyna still intermittently worked on lightly with a healing spell. She seemed to be prolonging the process, only using the weakest spell she could. He shouldn’t have been surprised, at this point.

Relmyna just grumbled a dismissive “Flattered,” as she let the busywork of preserving their new corpse distract her. The rest of the coven was similarly excited; this body was still warm, and for most of them this was their first opportunity to work with such a fresh corpse. They all had ideas, questions, and studies they had in mind, and for at least a moment Relmyna understood her peers in their shared morbidity. Even if her own personal goals required living flesh. In the back of her mind, Relmyna remembered Sheogorath’s promise. Part of her worried what his next move would be.

Everyone had their turn in learning from Relmyna’s bounty. Ocantir recited rites of the Worm Cult, and preached from a book of contraband secrets the cult spread around for potential followers. Relmyna was unconcerned where he, a white-bread, upper-crust Altmer transplant from Summerset would have gotten such a book. Ocantir boasted about his cultist connections in the past, but he had yet to deliver beyond banned spellbooks and propaganda. Still, every zombie raised was a new revelation for them. A new demonstration of the power they can wield. That they _will_ wield, one day, without the restrictions of guildhall rules and moral convictions. It was an important lesson for the fledgling coven, but little more than a distraction for Relmyna.

With no test subject to continue her work, Relmyna had no need to stay behind while the others left to go back to their student lives. She was still the last to clean up and leave, taking extra care to wash herself of all the blood both she and her victim had spilt. Her dress, unfortunately, was unsalvageably stained, but for incidents like this she kept a spare change of clothes. She was unconcerned with modesty as she pulled off her dress, while Ocantir carefully put his own costume of normalcy back on nearby.

Ocantir looked up from lacing up his breeches, noticing her splattered blouse. “Cold water helps, to get the stains out.”

“I’m well aware,” Relmyna replied flatly. She fussed with checking her underskirt for spots. “You can also use vinegar.”

“You learn a lot of peculiar things in this double life,” Ocantir mused. “How to get blood out of almost anything, how to dig a grave within minutes, what incense negates the smell of rot… I suppose I could pretend I was an undertaker, though I find that to be a bit cliché.”

Relmyna paused, before admitting with a hushed tone, “That’s why I study restoration. People are less suspicious if you claim you want to save everyone.”

“I’m sure the irony isn’t lost on you.” Ocantir smirked to himself a little. “How long have you been using _that_ backstory?”

“Since I was around ten, I guess. When I began to realize I liked to see people getting hurt.” Relmyna didn’t know why he’d want to know, or why she’d let him, but there was something gratifying about revealing a secret. “I tried for a long time to act like I wanted to become a healer, instead of a butcher. I’m not sure if I was trying to convince others or just myself.”

“To be fair, I’d be terrified of having you as my nurse.” Ocantir was smiling in a genuine way, less obnoxiously snarky or fake than she’d usually see. It made Relmyna uncomfortable; not because she sensed a malicious intent, but because she rarely saw him looking so pleased around her.

“You did a good job tonight, for what it was worth. A service to our coven.”

Relmyna, at a loss for words, just nodded with a curt “Thanks.”

“But you need to be careful; killing people in the city is going to be a risk no matter where or when it takes place. This isn’t a path for the reckless.”

“… What is bringing _this_ on?”

Ocantir huffed, as though he expected a more gracious response. “I know this concept must be lost on you but there’s _a reason_ I refer to this group as a coven, and that is because we look out for each other. To a modest degree, at least.” And just like that, the pleasant look on his face hardened back into that more familiar, offended scowl. “Besides, you upheld your promise, I’ll give you that. Whatever… issue happened the other day is behind us, now.”

“I see… thank you.” Relmyna’s hackles were raised, for no certain reason, but habit set her on a polite default. People were such strange creatures, sometimes.

Ocantir’s shoulders rose and fell in a barely contained sigh. “I’m just trying to extend the barest minimum of an olive branch, here. We’re going to be working together for a while yet, I’m sure.”

“True,” Relmyna replied, uncertainly.

She let the conversation trail off there, pretending to be busy preparing the defensive wards before they left for the night. She had more than her fill of social interaction, between a conversation with a god and an attempted robbery. Her nerves felt like they were pulled taught, like the strings of a violin, and every word spoken to her was the onslaught of a bow drawn across them. By the time they left the sewers to rejoin the rest of the world, Relmyna had withdrawn into herself entirely. She didn’t even give her roommate the satisfaction of an apology when she entered their room, rousing the Altmer from her ‘beauty rest’ and sending her into a halfhearted, shrill rant before sleep retook her.

When everyone had settled down and the last lamp was snuffed out, Relmyna laid still in her bed. Ears ringing and head abuzz, she processed the deal she made and the future that would be in store for her. Sheogorath wasn’t one to arrange deals and make promises to mortals, was he? You never heard about him taking a mortal under his wing, or supporting a champion. There were no avatars of his might or favored disciples, no Mannimarcos or Nerevars who invoked his name for their deeds. He didn’t make heroes or villains, he’d break them. He broke every mortal he touched, as was his nature. Would he break her?

Was there any part of her he could break in the first place?

* * *

 

Nobody missed the man Relmyna killed, at least in the Arcane University, where there was little to any interest in the affairs of the city. Hardly anyone knew she even went out last night. Llathise knew her sister had gone out on the town, at the very least, but she had little insight into Relmyna’s inner life. Her elder sister was a mystery, closely guarded and exceedingly private; the older they both got, the less she knew about her and the less Relmyna would let her know. It wasn’t always like this, at least in Morrowind where they were young enough to not have any secrets. Even then, Relmyna was quiet and careful, though more out of awkwardness and fear than anything. Her shyness led people to believe Llathise was the eldest sister more often than not. In the University, their separate classes and independent lives had drawn them apart, and Relmyna turned from merely shy to noticeably cold. Llathise wasn’t very surprised, in the end; she likened her sister’s love to a wavering flame that needed to be coaxed and fed, lest it would snuff out entirely.

“So, how are you today?” Llathise smiled unwaveringly. Whether it was positive or not, Relmyna was more likely to respond to a sunny attitude, and even a bit of irritation at least felt like a conversation.

Relmyna was a world away from her, as usual. Her body language was tense but her unfocused gaze meant she had withdrawn from the world around her already, shutting out the gentle murmuring of students waiting for class to start. Llathise was patient, as she always had to be, waiting for an opening in the wall her sister had built. When she did, Relmyna flinched, vulnerable, with a paranoid look in her eye as she scrutinized the pleasant smile on her younger sister’s face.

“…I’m fine.”

“Are you getting enough sleep?” Llathise prodded further, testing the give in her sister’s patience for today. Pushing Relmyna’s buttons wasn’t _nice_ , but it was better than letting her shut off all conversation for the rest of the day. “It’s that restoration project, isn’t it?”

“I’m fine,” Relmyna repeated, her scowl softening after a second as she remembered herself. Llathise found out early that if anything, Relmyna hated letting her see her unfiltered demeanor, without the composure and politeness she retained since they were children. These days, it was easier to see it slip, and Llathise could tell Relmyna was savoring time apart to be herself, whoever that was.

The white noise of student chatter began to quiet down as their teacher walked in, carrying no books and not wearing a robe appropriate for their station. The sounds of soft snippets of conversations came to an uneasy halt, bringing a hollow silence to the room. Glancing around, many people seemed unsure of why they weren’t talking.

Walking up to the teacher’s lectern in front of the blackboard, an older gentleman of Cyrodiilic descent smiled toothily from behind a grayed-out beard.

“’Mornin’, kiddos! How are we all doing today? No, don’t answer that. I don’t rightly care, there’s no time for small talk. We’ve got lots to do today!”

Next to Llathise, Relmyna went rigid, red eyes wide. Her mouth was a thin, uncomfortable line in comparison to the broad, cheerful grin of the teacher’s scruffy face.

“There’s been a change in the curriculum, you see; I don’t know what this class was supposed to be before, but now I’m here to give you a little impromptu illusion primer. Can anyone tell me what the school of illusion is used for?”

The students were deathly quiet, some seeming unfocused. Llathise fought to keep herself lucid, knowing something was wrong, despite the subtle inner voice placating her. Feeding little white lies of normalcy into her skull. The teacher didn’t wait long enough to let anyone answer his question.

“Illusion is misdirection and manipulation at its finest, finding the strings of the marionette and learning to pull them. You all feel very puppet-like now, yes? No? A good illusionist never leaves their victims wondering, but a _great_ illusionist has their victims hanging on their every word, applauding at their own subjugation.”

Some of the students began nodding. Yes, this was very good work; top of the line.

“A great illusionist can tell you they’re manipulating you to your face, and you’d thank them. But that’s not always a magical talent; some of the best illusionists I’ve known didn’t even need to use magic,” The teacher chuckled to himself, as though remembering a humorous anecdote. “They just needed to dig into the subject, find the strings, and _pull_.”

Llathise, in her own hazy lull, didn’t notice the clammy hand that grabbed hers under the table at first. It was Relmyna’s, and she had her in a grip so hard her uncut nails were leaving crescent rivets in her palm. Llathise fought with the grating, itching feeling that clustered in the front of her brain when she tried to break her gaze from the speaker to look at her sister, and found her staring at attention; more alert and present than she ever her saw outside of concentrating on schoolwork. There was a clear and piercing anger in her gaze as she bore holes through the man at the lectern with her stare. If he noticed, he didn’t care.

“How ‘bout I show you how I pull the strings, and maybe give you some pointers on making some puppets of your own, hmm? How many of you would say you’re dependent on living in this reality?”

It was an odd question, but one that Llathise could understand. Yes, she would say that she needed to live in reality; she wasn’t sure how else you could live. She would have raised her hand if Relmyna didn’t have such a vice grip on it, making her hesitate as others around her slowly put their hands up. It was maybe ten out of the twenty-odd classroom, somewhat less than she thought it would be.

The teacher seemed pleased at the number, all the same. He clapped his hands together, making the rings on his hands clink metallically. “Look at all these volunteers! Splendid! Let’s have one of you come up now. _I choose_ ….”

His finger waved ominously before the room. Relmyna seized up as it teased at falling on her, then Llathise, before trailing over to some human boy they barely knew beyond a familiar face.

“… _You._ ”

The young man put his raised hand down, looking blanched, hesitating before getting up from his seat. It was a death march to the lectern the teacher stood at, causing a chill around the room that Llathise felt keenly. Beside her, Relmyna relaxed considerably; shoulders slumping, breath coming out in a ragged sigh. The two sisters exchanged a momentarily lucid glance, and Relmyna’s possessive grip on Llathise’s hand mellowed out into a gentler, more familial gesture of affection.

The chosen boy stood, vacant-eyed, before the class; as if he was about to give a presentation. The man who called him forth stepped from down from the podium to appraise him.

“Look at that; strong stock, perfect health, good bloodline. A pure-bred Breton fresh from High Rock!”

He clapped a hand on the youth’s back heartily. “I’d say this is a good sort of subject, don’t you?”

The entranced students began to nod and hum in approval. Relmyna rolled her eyes very slightly.

“Well, why don’t we prove the lengths of your dedication to reality, then?” The teacher’s face seemed to darken as he lost his vibrant smile, looking solemn as he pulled a plain kitchen knife from the inside of his jacket.

“Do you know how to carve a turkey, son?”

“Yes sir,” The student reply had a hollow, dissociated tone. He took the knife from his elder’s jeweled fingers without any fuss. “How many slices do you want?”

“Give us as much of the bird you can.”

Llathise, in her trance, found the spray of crimson blood that gushed from the forearm of her peer beautiful at first. Like a splash of paint, sloshed haphazardly onto the floor. The boy sliced into the flesh of his arm lengthwise, from the elbow down, taking off a narrow piece of bloodstained skin. He was pale, sweat beading at his brow, but his hand was steady in its gruesome task. By the time Llathise realized the horror of what was happening, the slice of flesh had dropped unceremoniously to the floor at his feet.

Many of the students began to shift, fighting against whatever was holding them back. Llathise wanted to scream, but like in any nightmare, she had no voice. Her legs were stone weights attached to a body she could barely say she was piloting, and she couldn’t move no matter how badly she wanted to flee. The student mutilating himself began to sob as he started to go down his arm again, but still held a certain unbidden determination to obey. Beside Llathise she heard a soft, inhaled gasp from her sister.

By the time the student made it to the second slice, he was noticeably uneasy on his feet, white as a sheet as all the color had drained from him to pool onto the floor. The teacher, who had been observing the act intently, put his hand on the boy’s shoulder; like a father reassuring his child.

“That’s enough, lad. Good job.”

The knife fell to the floor with a clatter, ringing out through the silent classroom. The student looked down at his red, wet arm in quiet horror as the teacher addressed the rest of the class.

“Looks like this chap could use a trip to the doctor’s office, eh? Who wants to help cart him out of here?”

The rest of the class was silent, in shock and still struggling within their own minds. Llathise felt glued to her seat. Only her eyes were able to move and find that Relmyna, stiff and dissociative Relmyna, the Relmyna who would shrink into the corner at any given opportunity to make herself as small and unassuming as possible, raised her hand tentatively to answer him.

The old man beamed, hands resting on his broad hips. “Well, look at _you_ and your stubborn sympathy for others. Miss Verenim, why don’t you ah, take this boy to the infirmary?”

In a room full of paralyzed, would-be mages, Relmyna alone could stand up and weave her way between the tables, as though she was never struck with the strange spell as they were. Llathise began to scream on the inside of her mind, but was it out of fear, revelation, or both? She couldn’t parse the information being fed to her, whispered into her ear in a language that wasn’t language, as much as it was a series of vague and disconcerting emotions. She couldn’t understand why nothing struck fear into her heart more than Relmyna’s perfect composure as she took the injured man’s good hand, neither flinching nor showing any aversion to the bloody scene he made. Her sister’s silence spoke more than it ever had, revealing all her secrets in a final moment of eye contact between them. Relmyna gave her sister one last, doleful look, more relieved than anything, before she led the student out the door, and left her peers in their profane state of Daedric control.

* * *

 

Beneath the Arcane University, there was no one but rats around to hear the screams of the tortured. Relmyna found that the farther away from Sheogorath, the weaker the spell of calm clung to her newest test subject. In her makeshift ‘lab’, he felt the pain of his wounds and the terror of his ordeal keenly. The way the man had cut his arm narrowly dodged his arteries, but the blood loss he suffered made him weaker than the more careful cuts she personally gave her last subject would have. It was sloppy, but she couldn’t count on Sheogorath to know the specifics to her process. She could still work with this.

“Stop _fidgeting_ ,” She scolded him like she was giving a child a bath. She healed the cut skillfully, but the raw nature of her healing spell did little to numb the pain. She saw to that personally. His screams were deafening, but they were music to her ears. How long had she gone without this? It felt like a lifetime.

In the pale cast of her magelight the fresh, magically-induced scar her work left was small. It was barely more than a patch of tender pink at this stage. She had a long way to go before she could catch up to what her research left off on. No matter, though – she didn’t mind a few more ‘all-nighters’ in the name of her work.

When her subject had screamed himself hoarse and finally passed out from shock, Relmyna took a moment to savor the quiet solitude of the empty necromancer lair. She was rarely here so early, but that didn’t feel any more surreal than the rest of the day was, really. The ramifications of Sheogorath’s bold move were starting to sink in. As her mind settled, she only just started to realize how bad of an idea it really was to have taken a student.

Though, at the same time, was there any real reason to care?

No, no… Relmyna shook those thoughts from her head quite literally. She had to think of Llathise. Her façade of normalcy. Her… coven; at least as far as Ocantir’s promise of some baseline of camaraderie went. She had strings that attached her to this double life, and while they felt frail, she couldn’t bear to break them.

The damage was done. Sheogorath was good on his word, at the very least. He set everything up to make sure she got a prime piece of meat to conduct her work on. One that was raw and _fresh_ and not yet anemic and half-dead like her last one. The opportunities before her made her mouth water, and she would have made a few superfluous cuts of her own had she not heard someone climbing down the rickety hatch connecting to the surface.

“Who’s there?” Relmyna asked softly, against the heavy silence that permeated the lair since her subject passed out. In the gloom of the sewer, Ocantir stepped into her magelight, still dressed in his apprentice robes.

“Well, you’ve gone and fucking _done it_ , haven’t you.”

Relmyna looked down at her gruesome work, and the school robes she and her victim shared. “I had an opportunity and I took it, Ocantir. You don’t understand; I couldn’t say no,”

“I don’t _understand_ why you’d fuck us, after _every_ lecture and _warning_ and all the _space_ and _patience_ I gave to you,” Ocantir’s voice cracked, his shaking hands reaching up to rub small circles into his temples. He looked ragged, more so than she ever saw the prim and proper Altmer. “How could you be so _stupid,_ Verenim? How could you take a student for your fucking torture games in _broad daylight?!”_

“Are they looking for him?”

“They’re looking for _you_ ,” Ocantir accused, “Because you put an entire classroom under a calm spell so powerful it could be _damaging_. And why did you do it? So you could cut some poor asshole up in front of them?”

“That’s not–“

“There are people who _remember what you did_ , Verenim. They’re going to be _looking_ for you and they’re going to uproot this whole damn place in the process!” He stamped his fine slipper against the solid stone floor, ineffectually. “They’re going to find _us_ , and all our work, and they’ll burn us at the thrice-cursed stake because of _you!!”_

Ocantir began to curse in his native tongue, sending more than a few Altmeri words Relmyna didn’t care to know echoing against the dark stillness of the reclaimed tunnels. She could still recognize a few, from her spotty education of the language, unfortunately. _‘Stupid, freak of nature Dunmer bitch’_ ; _‘Crazy fucking moron’_ ; _‘Psychotic, blood-thirsty harlot’_. His anger made him stamp and send a few weak fireballs sizzling harmlessly against the walls, acting out like a child while Relmyna could feel herself dissociating from the conversation. The shock was setting in, making her go cold and the world around her take on a muted, fuzzy quality. And yet… she expected this. She knew what her dealings with him meant. She should have known what she was getting into.

This was in Sheogorath’s nature, after all. Breaking people. Ruining their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the end of an arc, Probably


	6. 6 [animal experimentation, gore, death]

_‘_

_Experiment Log: 1 st of Sun’s Dawn, on the 170th year of the Third Era. I received new materials today when one of the vagrants took shelter in the woodshed from the cold. The body was diseased, but the meat should still be usable. The bones were weak with age, so they were discarded. The entrails were unusable. The liver and lungs were disgusting from the subject’s vices. Is there no such thing as a Nord with a healthy liver?’_

Relmyna brushed the feathered end of the quill across her lips thoughtfully. Blood smudged her logbook with delicate finger and palm prints and stained the pages a faint, spotty red along the very edges. She needed to be more careful with the telltale traces of blood and gore in her lab, but she found something freeing in the recklessness of making a mess in the heat of the moment. It had been a little while since she butchered her newest corpse, so the blood had cooled and congealed, bringing an unpleasant clamminess to her already cold fingers.

In an insulated box lined with ice Relmyna had collected the various healthy, intact parts of around five people, particularly their skin and muscle tissue in evenly cut chunks. More delicate samples of organs were bottled in alcohol, but Relmyna was hesitant to use them when they had been tainted with preservatives. Her overarching goal was simple: creating life from raw material, without the need for a Daedric soul. A pure being of flesh, perhaps an atronach of its own league, undiscovered by the narrow and prejudiced minds of the guild mages. This was unmarked territory for Relmyna, and it excited her. She felt close to something; some profound revelation hidden in between the pleasure and sting of pain and the rush of adrenaline. She wanted to learn the language of her victim’s tortured screams, so that she may better understand life itself.

Even with the gruesome nature of her experiments, she still kept her interest in the discipline of restoration, and perhaps that was the most gruesome part of all. Her decidedly aborted paper on the mutative effects of healing magic was a solid platform on which to expand her grasp on flesh as an element. Between her old lessons, her dabbling in necromancy, and things she picked up since her expulsion, Relmyna had begun to craft spells that did far more than heal. The two schools were studied by such narrow minds before her; acting like they were mutually exclusive, as if flesh stopped being flesh when it was ‘dead’ in the basic sense. Perhaps she’d do both schools a favor and share her findings, once she perfects the concept of ‘true’ resurrection. It was a necessary hurdle in her pursuits; the cheating of death, so that a subject can be used for as long as she needed it.

For now, the meat was dead before her; frozen by ice collected from outside. She didn’t want to take refuge in the north at first, but there were practical benefits to working in a place too cold to foster decay. It almost made up for the blasted frigidness her easterner’s sensibilities despised. In Bruma, a Dunmer such as herself stood out more, but they were also blissfully unaware of her identity and whatever bounty the Guild could have placed on her head. As a small town in comparison to other guildhall locations, she could enjoy a fresh start in their hall with some carefully doctored papers, a haircut, and a new name. Cut off from frequent communication with other chapters, nobody was the wiser.

It was better than previous places she stayed; safer, more civilized. After fleeing the Imperial City Relmyna occupied ruins, weaseled into other necromancy and hedgewizardry groups, and kept herself on the move for the last few years. She sought lessons elsewhere, to supplement her unfinished schooling; a rogue mage in Molag Bal’s cult taught her how to truly inflict pain. A necromancer coven near anvil housed her for a few months, and showed her things that most certainly were not in Ocantir’s Worm Cult literature. Her occupation of an abandoned fort near Cheydinhal gave her a refuge and a lab she still missed dearly, before a raid by the county watchmen forced her to flee north. So many times she had to abandon her progress, with only her notes and missives in tow. So much of her work was left unfinished. There was a reason she was back in a guildhall under an assumed identity, and that was to seek the creature comfort of an actual home. To find a place to truly finish her work.

 

The Bruma guildhall changed hands frequently compared to its sister locations. The nords were famously suspicious of magic as a discipline, rather than magic as ritualism. For now, the closest thing to a head of the hall they had was a wizened old human, too crochety and senile to be in this position in the first place. He was slowly going blind, and relied on the very few other members to care for him more and more often as time passed. Relmyna found safety in making herself useful to him. The wizard seemed to enjoy having a young elven nurse doting on him; Relmyna merely liked having control.

Veceres Umbrox was sitting in his favorite chair by the fire when Relmyna emerged from the basement, clean and proper as ever. Her dyed, brown hair was cut into an uneven bob, short enough to show the fairly recent piercings in her ears. Veceres leered, even if he could barely see her through his cataracts in the first place.

“Falane, the mail.” He wheezed. Relmyna bristled at the direct orders and lecherous stares in her newfound job, but Falane Reydania was, obviously, all too happy to serve. She was quiet and obedient, with just a hint of naivety and an interest in the idea of being mentored by an older man. A delicate piece of arm candy to read his mail and draw his baths. The perfect stereotype of the nubile, foreign meress.

Relmyna couldn’t fucking wait to kill this man.

“The monthly newsletter from the University came in,” Relmyna noted as she rifled through the handful of letters. “There’s a quarterly guild census form, a letter from a Miss Evadne of Anvil, and a few handbills, as per usual.”

“Census already? They’re going to be disappointed,” Veceres coughed into the sleeve of his robe. “You can count us all on one hand. Didn’t Gailen go back to the basin? Haven’t seen him in a bit.”

“Family business, I’m afraid.” Relmyna smiled reassuringly. She dispatched of the ugly Nibenean a fortnight ago. She couldn’t remember which parts were his anymore.

“And Casey, as well? I wish she’d at least write.”

“Casey filed for a transfer to Skingrad, don’t you remember, sir? You signed the recommendation letter.”

“Ah,” Veceres looked distantly into the fire, his aging mind trying to grasp the frayed edges of his memories. “Yes, I must’ve. Thank you for reminding me, Falane.”

Relmyna gave the old mage his newsletter and a pair of thick reading glasses. His milky eyes darted to her chest as she leaned in close, as he often did. Relmyna kept her mind on how shrill Casey’s screams were; how delicate and soft her flesh was, yielding so easily to the butcher’s cleaver. She could ruminate on the differences in the consistency of meat in human subjects for hours, but a wheeze from her decrepit charge brought her back to reality before her mind could wander further.

Veceres squinted into the pages of their only connection to the rest of the guild. “Ahh, that son of a sload Cornelius fiiinally kicked the ol’ bucket,” He attempted a sardonic laugh, which turned into a dry cough.

“Who?” Relmyna asked, with just the barest amount of feigned interest.

“The ol’ wizard, Cornelius Attravius. That horse’s arse bumped me off the line to the council at the university, and might as well have been the man to leave me here to die,” Verecus’ voice cracked, and he sat in quiet reflection over his old rival. Relmyna could really care less, trying to make herself look busy doing chores, as usual.

“Wizard Attravius served Chorrol Hall for thirty-five years and seven months,” Verecus read the obituary solemnly, whether she was listening or not. “…And will be succeeded by his assistant and student, Warlock… La- _theese_ Verenim. _Law_ -theese?? Can’t make heads or tails of these damn elf names.”

_Crash._

Chunks of shattered glass splayed out in a broad, chaotic pattern at Relmyna’s feet. Verecus looked up over his paper, mildly startled. “You alright, Falane?”

Relmyna, for a moment, was more alarmed by the ache in her chest than anything.

“S-sorry about that, Master Veceres,” She struggled to save face. At least she could play it off as her being shaken from fumbling the glass. She gave the guildmaster a practiced, apologetic smile. “…And it’s pronounced ‘ _La_ -thiss’, actually. Just clearing that up.”

She didn’t fear being caught by the guild and by extension the law nearly as much as she feared facing Llathise again. The last time her sister saw her, she was witnessing Relmyna’s implicit dealings with Sheogorath himself. Sure, it wasn’t certain if Llathise saw the Daedra at all, like the majority of the class that fateful day; but what was certain is that she knew Relmyna was behind the chaos he caused. The papers devoted a modest corner to trying to unravel the mystery of the troubled Verenim girl and her gruesome necromancy lab in the sewers for months. It was strangely compelling, if not embarrassing entertainment for a safely hidden Relmyna. That is, until an interview with the sensationalized necromancer’s sister made her drop following her own investigation altogether. As time went by and her paranoia simmered, she began to avoid news from the guild when she could. She didn’t need to know what Llathise was up to. She had no reason to look.

Finished with his paper, Veceres folded the pages back together with an unsteady hand. “All Fool’s day is coming up. Remember to snuff any candles in the summoning circle tonight, dear. Wouldn’t want the Mad God to see it as an invitation.”

Relmyna grimaced at the mention of _him_ from her place on the floor, crouching down to carefully sweep up the bits of glass her accident left.

“He has no reason to come here.”

She wouldn’t call herself afraid of Sheogorath; no, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. She was merely… cautious. Mindful. Demanding something of him was beyond her power as a mortal, and she paid for it dearly. Sheogorath effectively killed the façade Relmyna kept for most of her life, and she was afraid next time he may come for her in her entirety. There were only so many masks she could wear, after all. Their paths had no reason to cross again. Her research went beyond the exhausted subject of souls, and the concept of flesh had an inconsistent relationship with the Daedra, as alien as they were.

Relmyna would leave no room for the Madgod in her preoccupied mind. Her tests on the subject of ‘living’ and ‘dead’ flesh were an important part of her broader understanding of flesh as an element. After making Veceres’ dinner and seeing to other menial chores in the nearly empty guildhall, Relmyna planned a new experiment.

* * *

 

The rat she caught in the woodshed behind the hall was a large, scraggly beast. A stowaway from Skyrim caravans from the north; a ‘skeever’, they’d call these things. They would get as big as a dog, and became bold and vicious in groups. Relmyna hated working on animals; not that she liked them any more than people, but because they were more unpredictable and varied than men and mer. She didn’t have time to pore over a new animal husbandry book for every beastly subject she captured. But, when you didn’t have the confidence to potentially waste a human subject on something, you use a rat. Nobody cared if you killed a rat, she learned at an early age, but the screams of a rat were not nearly as sweet as the screams of a person.

This was another reason the concept of ‘true’ resurrection was a part of her research goals. It was an elusive subject for many mages throughout history, a difficult line to walk between restoration and necromancy. Relmyna had read many accounts of reviving the recently dead, and recreated those scenarios herself to study, but was it true resurrection? Resuscitation was only effective within minutes after a heart stopped. Necromantic magicks only made a soul pilot an otherwise dead body, with often disappointing results. True resurrection wasn’t often the goal of a necromancer, but a plea to the gods. Relmyna despised the idea that only the gods had power over life and death; life and death belonged to those who experienced them. The divine had no business in matters of flesh and mortality.

The setup Relmyna had invented was based on academic articles on medicine and her own, intimate familiarity of anatomy. A steady heart rate was the beacon of life, so she set up a crude, yet functional measurement system using dwemer alloy scrap, a soul gem conduit, and a metronome. ‘Post-dwemer engineering’ certainly wasn’t something she thought she’d end up doing for the sake of medical discovery, but at least she could say she was a woman of many skills. After some preliminary tests to ensure it worked, the metronome powered by a lesser soul dutifully ticked away in time with the restrained, sedated skeever’s pulse.

‘ _Experiment Log: 1 st of Sun’s Dawn, on the 170th year of the Third Era. Continuing my pursuits before the upending of my previous lab, I now have enough resources to resume necro-restorative resurrection experiments. Subject is a male skeever of adult size, responsive and healthy as of this writing. Following previous findings on optimal scenarios, the subject will be administered the experimental necro-restorative spell “R-1” within thirty seconds of heart failure by electric shock.’_

The ticking of the metronome was, frankly, maddening for her as she wrote in her logbook. It was ironic, given her love for the more erratic, cacophonous screams of fear she so loved to draw from her subjects. The rat was disgustingly loud in her cold, candle-lit chamber; its ragged breaths reminding her of old man Veceres’ constant, noisome existence. The heart rate monitor began to tick with increased fervor as she approached the restrained vermin, telling of its fear.

“It’s a shame you’ll never understand the sacrifices you’ll make, in the name of scientific advancement.” Relmyna cooed to the creature. It wasn’t nearly as fun as when the subject could talk back.

The rat squirmed in its restraints, making the metronome tick frantically from its barely contained terror, dreading the giant monster above him. Relmyna pulled off one of her gloves, and let electricity flow from her fingertips.

Shock spells had such an invigorating feeling attached to them. They were advised against for novices for their risk of self-electrocution, though really, didn’t all destruction magic come with a mortal risk? Relmyna always thought that was part of the appeal. The shock tingled up the nerves of her hand, stinging her fingertips like they were driven through with needles. The rat screamed, piercing and anguished; then fell silent. The metronome, and thus his heart, made a few irregular beats as it slowed to a complete stop.

Relmyna counted, muttering under her breath, “One Almalexia, two Almalexia, three Almalexia….”

The silence came with the slightest, subtlest ringing, with the absence of the rat’s vital signs.

“…Eight Almalexia, nine Almalexia, ten Almalexia….”

Sounds of movement beyond the door to her lab broke her concentration. She froze, and heard the creaking of the stairs to the hall proper. The voice of Veceres from halfway up the stairs came in muffled from behind the door.

“Falane! Don’t forget to dismantle the summoner’s circle!”

“Al _right_!” Relmyna barked back with the indignation of an interrupted teenager, insistent on staying in her room. She loathed botching the delicate experiment before her more than the old man catching her in the act.

“Midnight is upon us, girl! Sheogorath will take any excuse as an invitation to cause chaos, mark my words!”

Electricity tickled her bare fingertips again in her ire. “ _I do **not** fear Sheogorath. Good **NIGHT** , Master._”

Relmyna stood still, and waited for Veceres’ footsteps to head back up the stairwell. Anxiety mounted as she realized she lost count. There was no time to mentally prepare herself for this; every second lost was a higher chance at failure. She had cast this spell before to ensure she could handle it, but she never actually _tried_ it on something.

The spell itself was a sequenced technique, scaled down from her previous spellcrafting attempts to befit something as small as a rat. A much milder shock than what killed the rat was applied with a verbal command. She synchronized it with the gestural component of a healing spell, followed by the final, necromantic element: the resummoning of the rat’s soul into its body, as a preventative measure. Souls were separate from flesh, but mortals still had them. For some reason.

The rat briefly spasmed in its restraints from the electrical current, but that was the only outward effect. The metronome did a fluttering beat, but couldn’t return to a rhythm before stopping completely.

Relmyna sighed. That was attempt number one down.

 

Recent texts from the Aldmeri Dominion’s impressive colleges suggested that shortly after death, the brain would begin to break down rapidly, ruining chances at successful true resurrection with each passing moment. After a minute, it was presumed that the soul had left the body. After thirty, physicians concluded that the body was nothing more than zombie material. Ten minutes after the rat had passed, Relmyna had invariably singed the wretched thing through and through retrying different iterations of the spell. In hindsight, she really should have stopped after the first time.

_‘Followup report: R-1 succeeded only in triggering a brief, irregular pumping of the heart through the electrical spasming, but couldn’t jumpstart a heartbeat. For the next attempt I would suggest an emphasis on restoratives over visceral stimulation.’_

Relmyna rubbed at her temples, feeling a mild headache coming on. She wasn’t looking forward to months of raiding skeever traps and slaving over spell formulas, for something that seemed so simple but had such delicate, complicated issues. It would have been easier with a better work environment and more live resources, but permanent installments came with so much risk. At the end of the day, she just wanted to work. Was that so wrong, so evil she had to spend more time hiding her research than actually working on it? Was she cursed to keep living on rats and vagrants and keep fleeing for her safety before she could produce worthwhile results, for the rest of her life?

What was she _doing_ with herself?

Cold began to numb her fingers as she tried jotting down half-formed revisions to her resurrection spell, before she forgot them. Her raw talent was more than sufficient, but the busywork involved in spellcraft was exhausting sometimes. Like proofreading a manuscript, she laid out the process of her spell and searched for any errors. Frankly, she would have rather been cutting up something. _Anything_. The ache at the front of her mind bloomed into an unpleasant, disorienting pain over the next hour or so. Perhaps it was hypocritical of her, but she drew the line at headaches for her masochism. Taking a last, doleful glance at the discarded corpse of the skeever, Relmyna willed herself to go to bed.

Her candle only kept the dark of the basement back by a few feet. The night made it so cold her breath puffed out in front of her. She longed for a warm fire, and was focused on the one she could light upstairs; almost letting her miss the flicker at the corner of her eye as she walked.

Predictably, it was the platform guildhalls often used for conjurations and Daedric summoning. One of the leftover, stubby candles was lit. Of course.

Relmyna promptly snuffed the offending flame between her fingers. _Not today, Sheogorath._

Light from upstairs indicated that Veceres must have left the fire going before heading to bed. It was common of him to forget these things, in his old age. It made Relmyna want to make a suicide pact before she sunk into senility.

She opened the door to a shadow being cast, from a figure standing in front of the hearth. It was cut more upright and stately than the silhouette of the guildmaster. Predictably. Relmyna wasn’t in the mood for this.

“Are there no manners in Oblivion, or do you just barge in uninvited on _me_ , specifically?” Relmyna quipped, walking up to meet the visitor in front of the fire.

Sheogorath’s face was bathed in the light of the flame, refracting off his catlike eyes eerily. “On the contrary, dear girl, I was most certainly invited. In fact, I plan to visit quite a few people today.”

Relmyna just sighed, already dreading what he could possibly want with her. To gloat at her current situation, perhaps? To try and taunt her into madness? Well, at this point her spellcrafting issues would be doing the work for him.

“Well,” There was an awkward pause as she ventured, thinking before realizing whatever she wanted to say wasn’t worth the effort.

“… Do you want tea, or something?”

* * *

 

“At this rate, I might as well give you a key to the place,” Relmyna commented offhandedly as she poured boiling water into a cup the Madgod held.

“Well, I didn’t know you wanted me visiting quite _that_ often,” Sheogorath chuckled in that tone that Relmyna remembered from their last friendly encounter, years ago.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “That wasn’t a proposition.”

There were no chairs nearby to sit in, but it seemed that the Daedra didn’t mind sitting cross-legged on the rug, balancing the cup and saucer perfectly on his shoe. Relmyna wouldn’t have minded it either, if she was with literally any other kind of company. The most unsettling part of being around Sheogorath had to be the lack of unease he instilled in her at all. It said more about her than she wanted, and made anxiety fill that void reserved for a normal reaction.

“So! What has the genius miss Verenim been working on since our last visit, hmm?” Sheogorath grinned genuinely at her. Relmyna was momentarily caught off guard by the casually thrown ‘genius’.

“Well. Uh. I tried bringing a rat back to life.” …That sounded more impressive in her head.

“Cool!”

“I’ve… been collecting raw materials to create a flesh golem.”

“Neat!”

“I uh,” Relmyna paused. In all honesty, there was a lot to talk about. There was a lot she _wanted_ to talk about, whether it was to impress him or just have someone to unconditionally confide in. She watched him stir tea entirely casually at his place on the floor, and drew a blank.

“My sister’s the new master of the Chorrol chapter,” She admitted, despite herself. “And I’m still in hiding, trying to resurrect rats, letting some old s’wit treat me like a maid in exchange for room and board.”

She allowed herself a small sip of her own cup. “Can’t say I’m doing too well, in comparison.”

“Well, there’s your problem, luv. You’re comparing yourself to your sis, when she’s not you. As far as I know, there’s only one Relmyna Verenim, and that’s the only person you should be comparing yourself to.”

Sheogorath took a drink, naturally as can be, and left Relmyna to process his somewhat abstract advice.

“Am I really doing any better than the last time you saw me?”

“I think you’re more yourself than you’ve ever been, for someone taking an assumed identity.” The Daedra’s smile was good-natured, but suspicion made it feel sinister to her.

Relmyna knew she had to choose her words carefully. He was dangerous; she saw that dangerous side, seven years ago.

“… Did you really try to help me, back there in that classroom?”

“Well of course, dear. Look at how you were back then, you were stifled! Unhappy! Stressed to the bone! That mask you had made for yourself wasn’t befitting of you,” Sheogorath’s eyes shined. They almost seemed to generate their own, faint glow. “You can’t be two people, Relmyna. There’s only room for one of you in this world, and she’s right here; as sharp and lovely as her many blades.”

“That mask was all I had,” Relmyna tried to keep her voice steady. Thinking about her old life upset her, and she wasn’t used to that. “Pretending to be… _normal_ made me feel like a person. Like a sister. Now she sees me as the monster I am.”

Her breath came out in a ragged sigh, and she seemed to sink into herself from it. Relmyna looked at the floor, to avoid the Daedra’s gaze.

“I’m not a monster. I am a woman of particular interests. Particular desires. I have ideas and passions that others are not ready to see.” Her gaze flitted back up to Sheogorath’s, and she found him listening solemnly.

“People are too cowardly and complacent for your fresh and enlightened ideas,” Sheogorath concluded. “They see blood and they cry murder before they wonder the meaning behind the stain.”

Relmyna felt an ache in her throat, a knot that made it hard to breathe. “I only ever wanted one person to understand me, and she did. Before I could tell her, she knew.”

Llathise was deeply involved in the investigation following Relmyna’s exposure, for a time. The articles and the interviews painted her as an embattled, bleeding heart who tried to help a deranged sibling, to no avail. She revealed incidents from their childhood together; rats and scribs Relmyna maimed, other children she fought, morbid things she said. The public was fascinated with the story of these sisters, so alike yet so different.

“She _hates_ me. She thinks I’m _sick_ , I’m _broken_ , I’m-” Relmyna choked, and it all came spilling out.

Crying wasn’t something Relmyna was used to. She couldn’t remember the last time she did, not even as a child stumbling and getting hurt as children do. If anything, it was something others did. Normal people. Her victims. Llathise. No wonder she didn’t do it, really; it was humiliating. Messy. This was the last being she should be showing weakness to, as well. Relmyna flinched when Sheogorath moved towards her. She knew better than to expect comfort from a corner of the House of Troubles, regardless of how kindly and polite he presented himself. She had to be cautious; she couldn’t just… let him _touch_ her….

…Which is exactly what he did, in the end.

In her moment of vulnerability, Relmyna thought he was reaching for her mortal soul. The pad of his thumb wiped at the trail of tears that ran down her cheek. Sheogorath smiled warmly.

“There, there, dear girl. I’d offer a kerchief in this trying time, but you seem to have taken mine.”

“I still have it,” Relmyna replied, absently.

“Ah, holding it ransom, I see,” He was close enough that Relmyna could feel the slightest hint of his breath. Daedra had to breathe? Fascinating. As she willed herself to settle down, she found herself taking in even more strange, mortal-like details his form had. His pupils constricted and dilated in a natural manner. The muscles of his face moved under his skin subtlety, his adam’s apple bobbed from an errant swallow. He was… too close, actually. Relmyna scooted backwards a few inches.

“Sorry,” Relmyna’s apology was an automatic, nervous response. “Sorry you had to see that.”

The Madgod just chuckled. “See? You’re not a monster at all.”

Relmyna sniffled in an unattractive manner. “Forgive me if it’s hard for me to take you as the compassionate sort.”

“Typical,” Sheogorath shrugged, but there was a hint of ire in his voice. “Mind you, the same people who see me as a monster also see you in the same way.”

“I guess that’s the fate of the mad.”

It was hard for Relmyna to refer to herself in that way, as someone ‘mad’. At this point, she felt she had to face it; quite literally, in this case. The embodiment of madness was seated before her, close enough that their knees touched from idle movements. Close enough that Relmyna felt the heat rise in her face, unbidden. She inched away some more, hiding it behind a shift to a more comfortable position.

“I know you didn’t come here to hear me vent my frustrations, so why are you here?”

Sheogorath gave her a knowing look. “Well, you wanted help with something, didn’t you?”

“The last time you helped me –“

“Yes, yes, _‘the last time I helped you, I ruined your life’_. Oh, if I had a drake for every time I heard that line!” Sheogorath laughed heartily, but there was a sinister glint to his strange eyes.

The shadows cast by the fire seemed to lengthen. Sheogorath’s voice lowered into a growl. “No, no. I wanted to offer a more ‘hands on’ approach, this time. If you’d have me, of course.”

* * *

 

Johann awoke with a pounding head and the taste of vomit in his mouth. His eyes struggled to focus in the low light. Just another rough night, he thought, through the fog of an emerging hangover. His brothers in the fighter’s guild gave him a run for his money every time they went bar-hopping; one of these days, they weren’t going to carry his passed out ass out the door with them. Their latest binge must’ve done a number on him, too; he couldn’t remember the last time his limbs felt so heavy.

After some attempts to move, Johann realized with mounting concern that he seemed to be immobilized in the dark. No, tied down, it seemed. A match was lit, some ten feet away. Someone used it to light a lamp.

“So, what do you want to know, dearest?” The voice of an older man asked.

“I want to know everything,” A woman’s voice answered, soft and somber. “Please, serjo. Teach me.”

 

Relmyna froze, uncertain, as Sheogorath guided her hands from behind, slipping a scalpel into her fingers. His voice was a whisper in her ear, so quiet she could barely make it out, and yet… she _understood_. Her spellcrafting skills seemed so clumsy in comparison. Sheogorath’s solution to her problem sounded so sophisticated; simplistic, yet powerful. Elegant, yet direct. _Precise_. The words, the motions, the mindset she had to be in were different than any necromantic or restorative spell she ever knew.

His hands rested on her shoulders, but not in a way that made her feel claustrophobic, as such gestures often did. It made her feel confident. He _trusted_ her with this knowledge. He gave her a _gift_.

The nord they tied to the examination table began to holler. A metronome ticked with increased fervor, attached to a soulgem-powered device that fed a wire to his bare chest. He blanched upon seeing the dunmeress, with her scalpel and the maddened glint in her eye. She smiled, exhilaration clear on her face as she saw that he was all too awake now.

“It’s a shame you’ll never understand the sacrifices you’ll make, in the name of scientific advancement.”

She didn’t draw out the death, as she preferred to do. She severed the jugular, and let all of the life spray out of the subject. The nord choked on his own blood and fear for a few terrified seconds, twitching and gurgling helplessly. Sheogorath tittered like it was a minor joke in a play, but his eyes were on the enthusiastic, foolhardy mortal he watched grow for the past few years. Hedge wizards were directionless. Necromancers were reckless and power-hungry. _She_ was a visionary, full of raw talent and passion still being tempered and directed into something substantial.

She was also the most entertaining mortal he’d seen in decades. She had to be, for him to feel like she deserved what he just gave her.

The metronome stopped, even though blood still dripped from the victim’s neck intermittently. Relmyna counted under her breath, and held her hands at the ready. She felt Sheogorath’s eyes on her keenly, but she wouldn’t let that break her confidence. She drew on the wisdom Sheogorath gave her. The answer to her questions, the gap in her knowledge that plagued her.

First, the shock. Mild in power, but directed to the chest, stimulating the nervous system. Then, the lungs filled with air; guided by her hand, manually pumping the diaphragm and muscles of the ribcage. A spell of healing was applied, but in a more precise way; not only healing the severed artery, but also the oxygen-deprived brain. Relmyna could feel the blood start to pump in his veins, the electrical synapses resume in his brain. On the table, Johann woke from a nightmare, only to find that he wasn’t dreaming.

The metronome’s frantic ticking was quiet, in comparison to the tortured screams and jubilant laughter that drowned it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> geeze, this fic turns a year old in 4 days. neat


	7. [asphyxiation, blood, death]

She was having that dream again, the vague childhood memory of a butcher’s stand that always seemed to come back to her. It may have been one of her very first memories; etched into her impressionable young mind. She dreamt vividly of being carried, feeling the texture of her mother’s blouse, hearing fuzzy tones of her mother’s half-forgotten voice. Sometimes, her subconscious seemed to replace it with her sister’s, creating an unpleasant undercurrent to an already disturbing scene. Her mother was telling her not to be afraid in a firm, somewhat exasperated voice as the screams of live scrib rang in her ears. The butcher began to shell the insects on the spot. The smell of fresh, raw scrib jelly made her gag as it was scooped out of the twitching body. But it wasn’t scrib innards, was it? No… it was a bright and garish red, mottled with the pinks and veiny purple-blues of meat that had not yet been drained of blood. A ridiculous amount of it was pulled out, before her mind could will her out of the recursive loop of terror it had gotten itself in. Yet another night dreaming of gore and pain, leaving her sick to her stomach.

Llathise awoke feeling ill and unsettled, made all the worse smelling breakfast being cooked downstairs. Colovians loved their meat at all times of the day; often processed meats like sausages, which Llathise found especially disgusting. It was all she could do to distance herself from the concept of cooking eggs, just for the sake of healthy eating. Meat of all forms destroyed her appetite just by looking at it. Seeing it raw could send her into a panic.

It helped, at least, that her guildhall was accommodating of her needs. Her meals were often prepared separately from the others, and Azura help anyone who dared sneak a scrap of meat or a drop of broth into them. Llathise embraced the greener diets of other races; Altmer in particular. Ocantir was very gracious about her phobia and was often the chef of the house, outside of the hall.

Llathise could expect her morning pastries and cooked greens, as per usual, with a scrambled egg hidden underneath. The guild mages were having ham at the dinner table, so she took the plate back to her study with a copy of the University newsletter, laid out for her helpfully with her meal. Ocantir gave her a quiet greeting and a soft smile, and said nothing of the dark and tired look her nightmares left her with.

It was rather odd how things worked out, sometimes. She and Ocantir were called in for questioning during the… _incident_ at the University. Kept waiting at the offices of the Imperial Watch, the two struck up a conversation, and one thing simply led to another. It was funny how one could pinpoint the exact days of some turning points in their life. Llathise could trace it back with news articles and missives on the case of the ‘Student Butcher’ of the Arcane University. It wasn’t the worst den of necromancy they had unearthed in the Imperial City before, sure, but it was _entertaining_ , and that was more than enough. The sensationalized youthful beauty of the Dunmeress in the time of Empress Katariah’s regency, as well as the accounts of her innocent sister made for popular headlines and gossip for a good few months. Llathise regretted revealing so much of her childhood with Relmyna, and all the stories she told of her sister, with her blossoming madness and the signs she chose to ignore.

Then again, wasn’t it for the better? Distancing herself from Relmyna was like shedding a weight from her shoulders; she no longer had to look out for her, to worry about her, to pretend everything was fine with her. She didn’t have to break down a wall just for a familial connection anymore. She could be herself, as opposed to just somebody’s sister… a murderer’s sister.

 

Mid-morning sunlight streamed through the diamond shaped panes of the office windows, illuminating the personal bookcases Llathise now owned. Her mentor left her a wealth of collected knowledge that she was honored to keep, as well as a cache of collected magical oddities and flashy enchanted items. Barely anything practical; there was something disappointingly performative about her mentor’s magic and how he ran the guild. Attravius was content to coast along in a barely-engaged position as the head of the hall, leaving his subordinates to deal with the paperwork while he enjoyed a grand office and a master suite. It showed in his old office, with the thin coating of dust over the books and display cases of items that were barely used during his life. Llathise, as his successor, vowed to do better; to be more of a leader than a figurehead. Sitting her plate down on the desk, she began to leaf through the morning mail laid out for her.

There were the obligatory, uniform condolences from other guildhalls throughout the province. A very mechanical-sounding letter from the current Archmage’s secretary, writing a less than heartfelt, empty paragraph with the Archmage’s signature hastily scribbled at the end. Llathise felt nothing but a slow simmering of contempt. Not a one chose to congratulate her, encourage her, or even acknowledge her promotion. These were supposed to be her new peers. Her equals. A little curiosity would have helped, at the very least. She copied the same, similarly empty response for each one, to match their tones.

Llathise wrote with one hand while awkwardly trying to hold her fork with her non-dominant hand, and nibbled on her greens. This was her life now, she concluded with herself. Still doing paperwork for the late guildmaster, only this time in a fancier office.

The newly appointed guildmisstress began to zone out hard halfway into her response to the Anvil guildhall when Ocantir let himself in, ducking as his head came dangerously close to the top of the doorframe.

“Is it just more ‘sorry-you’re-dead’s today? There might be something addressed to me in there.”

“Were you expecting a letter?” Llathise didn’t look up from her work. The Altmer sat on the less-cluttered edge of the desk, casually.

“Aye, a letter from friends up in Alinor, it should’ve gotten here last week sometime,” The corners of Ocantir’s mouth pulled back in a somewhat anxious half-grimace as he eyeballed the messages littering the workspace. Llathise hummed in acknowledgment, and signed the letter to Anvil in a lazy signature. It was mostly an L and a V between some scribbles.

“When are you ever going to introduce me to these friends in Alinor?” Llathise watched a spark of dread pass through his eyes with no small amount of amusement. “Or your parents, for that matter?”

“Dear, we talked about this; they’d be none too pleased to find I’ve no intention of returning to settle down with a purebred Altmer girl and get into the family business.” Ocantir shrugged as he thought back on whatever it was that waited for him back in the Summerset Isles. Llathise gave him a concerned little smile.

“If it’s any consolation, whatever Telvanni family I still have back on Vvardenfell would have some choice words for me.”

“Oh, but could you imagine? If we survive reuniting with our families, the clash between xenophobes would be the stuff of epics. We could retire on the book revenue.”

Llathise laughed, bright as the sun that streamed into the room, but in the back of her mind she could only think of one family member she still had.

Ocantir unhelpfully rummaged through her mail and, unsatisfied, left with an awkward air of unanswered questions and barely hidden secrets. She still knew little about this man she had been with for a good few years now, but perhaps she was used to secretive people. When pressed about it in the past, Ocantir begrudgingly recalled a rather dreary childhood in the upper middle class of the Altmeri province. Using a transfer to the Arcane University for his final years of schooling, he found freedom in living outside of the suffocating culture of his minor nobility peers, but it came with making a lot of excuses and white lies to cover his decisions back home. Frankly, it made Llathise relieved that her family was either dead, non-existent in her life, or Relmyna; who could have been either, for all she knew.

With that distraction out of the way, she could get back to work. She merely glanced through most of her letters; they all said basically the same thing, after all. Save for perhaps, the one from Bruma, addressed to a Mr. ‘Lying, Thieving, Dead Son of a Bitch’. Ah yes, she heard of her late mentor’s chilly relationship with the Bruma guildmaster. When she opened the envelope, two letters fell out.

One matched the envelope it came in, being a run-on string of insults done in a shaky hand, bemoaning that the author couldn’t kill Attravius his damn self. It was an entertaining change of pace, to be sure.

The second letter was neatly folded, small and innocuous, a perfect square from different paper and written in a different hand.

It began with a solemn ‘ _Dearest Sister_ ’.

* * *

 

_Dearest Sister,_

_I regret the incident I unwittingly pulled you into, all those years ago. It was my personal issue, and you didn’t deserve to be left behind to clean up my mess. I only wish I could have explained to you the method behind my work. It goes far beyond the limitations of restoration and necromancy as we’ve come to know them, and I can assure you describing it in plain, sterile words is a disservice to it. Please, I would ask of you to visit me in Bruma Hall. There are so many things I want to teach you, and so many apologies I must say in person._

_With love,_

_Relmyna_

 

Relmyna dabbed the corner of her kerchief against her wet eyes as she gave her letter a final once-over. She was risking everything by doing this, but in truth, didn’t all major breakthroughs come with a little risk? All she had to do was explain herself, she was certain.

It would be a long, arduous wait in stomach-turning impatience while she waited for her letter to reach Llathise’s hands, and it would be even longer yet to wait for a response. She bided her time by keeping her head in her work, perfecting the divinely inspired method of resurrection she now wielded. The knowledge Sheogorath imparted on her was a tip of the iceberg of just how complex and powerful this magic really was. She experimented with it for many long nights; studying its effects both physical and mental in her subjects. Rats were subjected, unsuccessfully, to a series of tests meant to gage their mental abilities before and after. When that inevitably failed she went back to the ever reliable, ever flexible, bodies men and mer.

Another Nord beggar was lured in with the promise of drink into her new, secluded private study outside of town. The cabin had been abandoned for some time, falling apart and poorly insulated, but it was at least far enough away for her victims to scream as loud as they wanted.

“Now, now. It will all be over soon,” Relmyna’s reassurance was about as comforting as a bed of nails, and as cold as her blades in the frozen hut. The Nord wheezed, pulling the bag over his head tight over his face from his desperate inhale. Asphyxiation was an interesting way to die; not nearly as messy and fun as a good fatal wound, but was apparently very painful. Had the nearest ponds hadn’t been frozen over, she would try drowning next.

The man struggled in his bonds, frantic, sobbing with what little air he had left. The heart rate monitor ticked wildly as his body fought over its last scraps of breath. Breath, Relmyna had deduced, was the most important resource that the brain specifically needed. Deprived of air, the death of the brain was only partially reversible with her current methods of resurrection. The damage had to be picked out of the thousands of factors she could find in her spellcrafting, channeling magicka in her complicated compound spells. One attempt took inspiration from water breathing magic, by trying to trick the body in a similar way; but with a lack of anything in the lungs, be it air or water, they would collapse instead. She still marveled at the detailed inner workings of the mortal body, even after so much time spent wrist deep in it, viscerally manipulating different parts herself. Using magic to destroy, restore, and warp it, like a living god of whom her subject was at her mercy.

Nothing was better at distracting her from the knot of anxiety in her throat like opening someone up and spending all night admiring their insides. By the end, she had coaxed a few loose threads of discovery from her tests involving manual and magical manipulation of the lungs, and by counting the seconds it would take for the brain to start dying. In one of her bloodstained books, she detailed the musings of different contraptions from the heart-monitoring metronome, to help her pinpoint the life leaving or re-entering the brain without relying on outward tells.

It was all a temporary reprieve from the dread and uncertainty for future, in the end. Tossing and turning in her sleep in the later hours, her work could not occupy her thoughts forever. She wanted to be done with all this business of ‘ _missing_ ’ someone.

* * *

 

Weeks passed. Bodies were used and re-used. Candles were lit and re-lit until they were melted nubs on the summoning circle. Llathise didn’t write back, and a part of Relmyna was relieved. People were complicated. _Emotions_ were complicated. It was best to just not bother with either of them. Her work would go on, as usual. There was so much left to do, after all.

Since Sheogorath had bestowed unto her a gift of knowledge mortals were perhaps never to know, she had taken to showing a modicum of respect for him since. Worship was out of the question, of course; nothing could make her worship anything that wasn’t the power of the flesh she studied. People were complicated. Gods, even moreso. Even so, Relmyna would not disrespect a Daedric Prince, especially one who seemed actively interested in her… for better or worse, of course. On nights when she didn’t want to admit she felt lonely when waiting for Llathise, she put a freshly written section of her notes with a candle on the otherwise unused altar of summoning. Come morning, the book would be closed. The candle would be snuffed out. She idly wondered if the Madgod enjoyed the updates.

The tedium of dealing with her guild superior in the Bruma guildhall was thankfully brief. Verecus was usually resting, or staring idly at books he could barely read. She didn’t know nor care for the extents of his senility; only that it helped her work behind his back immensely. He barely seemed to care that she was only around in the mornings and early evenings, fixing meals, conducting business he can’t or wouldn’t do. One such Tirdas she went through the motions of being Falane for him, as always, quiet and obedient, naïve and innocent. A caricature of what she figured other people wanted to see in an unassuming woman. Even as the door to the foyer opened and she flinched in wide-eyed indignation at the intrusion, she tried to remember: she still had a role to play.

The gloomy and nearly empty hall rarely got visitors, so she feared the worst. Relmyna delicately stepped around Verecus’ chair and multitude of blankets, but still stumbled over nothing as she saw her own face staring back at her, in the doorway. No – this was a softer face, a less tired and grim face. Those eyes were brighter, and didn’t shy away from eye contact. The red hair she used to have was in a neatly braided wrap around her head, in contrast to the uncombed, dark mop she had now. The two shared an identically dumbstruck pause, then remembered their respective roles.

“Wizard Llathise Verenim, of Chorrol hall,” Relmyna’s sister held out her hand to shake for the first time.

Relmyna gripped it briefly in hers in the barest attempt at the gesture. “Falane. Charmed.”

She could tell through the cautious, quiet observation the two of them exchanged, taking each other in anew, that Llathise also had a role to play. Something they finally had in common.

The elder sister put on her most pleasant smile. “You’ve come a long way, miss Verenim. Would you like some tea? Something a bit more ‘Nordic’ for the warmth, perhaps?”

Llathise gave her the look of a cornered animal that still wanted to show it wasn’t scared, before she remembered herself as well. “That would be lovely, actually; please.”

 

The tea they had at the table with Verecus had to have been the most nerve-wracking, stressful thing Relmyna ever had to deal with in her life. Llathise was there, across from her, dressed in the finery of an experienced guild mage. The aging Bruma guildmaster sat next to ‘Falane’, close enough that her hackles raised every time she heard him breathe. Llathise began a spiel of recited niceties about her deceased superior, and some condolences towards a very unimpressed Verecus. The man scoffed openly until she brought out some very well-rehearsed flattery, sprinkled with rumors and gossip, all tied to the dead man she supposedly came in behalf of. Relmyna watched how her sister conducted herself, and felt some small pride in how well little Llathise played role of normalcy.

“I couldn’t help but notice that this hall seems rather barren,” Llathise noted, her eyes briefly falling upon a Relmyna who just smiled in response.

“It’s colder than Namira’s teat and just as hospitable. The Nords don’t make it easier with their superstitious prejudices.”

“We would have guild scholars come here,” Verecus sighed raggedly, “But they’d always leave, somehow or another. Going back to warmer climes, I suppose.”

Llathise’s eyes bore into Relmyna from across the table. “So suddenly? Not a single goodbye, or letter of absence?”

“I don’t have time to see every child off, miss,” Verecus said, dismissively. “Falane here does most of the day-to-day business. The cold here has had me… sluggish.”

Relmyna gave her sister a sly smile, speaking in Falane’s tone of voice. “I could show you letters of dismissal and condolences of absence from several of our former members from last year, if you’d like. Miss Verenim.”

Llathise’s lips were tight and eyes were narrowed in the slightest admonishing look she gave her right back. She _knew_ , and the fact that Relmyna showed no reaction to that was bothering her, instead.

“I wouldn’t want to bother you, Master Verecus, but perhaps Miss - Miss Falane would be willing to show me around the hall?”

Verecus waived her off with barely a fraction of the formality she gave him, grumbling about being kept from his nice fire and even nicer nap.

Relmyna escorted Llathise out of the room, whisking her down the stairs, and into the bottom level; the basement, more or less, meant to house scholars and students in a more insulated environment. For now, it was cold, with its fireplaces unlit and its barracks empty. As soon as they became secure in their privacy, the masks of normalcy they wore came off.

Llathise’s face was first to break, eyes wide in a panic Relmyna saw all too often in victims before the first drop of blood was spilt. Her mouth opened and closed indecisively before stammering, “Wha- what are you _doing_ here?”

Relmyna had spent such a long time in equal parts dreading and dreaming of this moment. At this point, she felt a comfortable sort of numbness. A spark of confidence, even. She wasn’t speaking to Llathise as Relmyna the sister; she was speaking to her as Relmyna the _genius_.

“I’ve been working, Llathise,” She spoke softly. The flame of an oil lamp she was holding flickered gently. “And I’m close to a breakthrough of something amazing.”

“A breakthrough for what, exactly?”

Relmyna’s face brightened with more life and emotion than Llathise had probably ever seen. A genuine smile that lit up the room, warmed the air, and sent a cold chill of unease through her.

“Life, death, and the mortal body, dear sister. Please –“ She cautiously tried to take Llathise’s hand, but didn’t pursue it when it was jerked away. “Please, Llathise, there is so much to talk about that I don’t even know where to begin,”

“You can start by telling me what you’ve been _doing_ ,” Llathise was firm, hiding fear behind a stern gaze. “Have you been… _hurting_ people? _Killing_ them?”

Relmyna saw the fear in her eyes. The distressed look she saw her in last; frozen, but aware. This time, at least, Llathise wasn’t being controlled. The elder sister sighed, her breath hanging in the cool air.

“Yes, Llathise. I have had to do… _experiments_. In the name of scientific discovery. There is no way around it in this line of work, you know; no one understands what I need to do, the lengths I go to, to study the Flesh –“

“The Flesh?”

“Yes!” Relmyna’s eyes lit up in a way Llathise found manic and unsettling. “Flesh as an element; A powerful, barely understood force all its own. Llathise, this is _big_ ; it can change how we see the body, how we see healing it, how we see _life and death_ ,”

She clapped her hands together from a spark of memory, and Llathise flinched in response. “Oh! Please!! Please come back with me to my lab, I have a subject ready and you can sit in with my experiments and you can see what I have discovered!! Really!!”

Llathise was a deer staring down a hunter’s drawn bow, and Relmyna could see that clearly, even in her excitement. Maybe she should… tone it down.

“Llathise, I know full well my work is… unconventional. Unethical, really. It’s messy and unpleasant, and it hasn’t been perfected yet. But you, as a scholar, as an honorable mage in your own right, must see the importance of what I’m trying to do, right? Llathise, I’m… I’ve learned _true resurrection_. I can bring back the dead, not as a necromancer but as a _miracle worker_.”

Inch by inch, Llathise had been backing away incrementally, trying to keep some space between her and Relmyna. She didn’t know where to begin processing her sister’s lively demeanor as soon as the subject turned morbid, let alone what she was saying. In the back of her mind, she worried if she’d ever see Ocantir again. Would she leave Bruma alive? Would she leave this guildhall alive?

“I don’t… know if I can stomach an, ah, experiment,” She swallowed, and her dry throat hurt. “I’m not… I’m not _like you_ , Relmyna,”

“I know,” Relmyna stepped forward, and Llathise took a step back. It upset her more than she liked, but she couldn’t stop. Not now. “Sister, I would do anything to convince you that I’m not some… ‘madman’, that I’m not some deranged necromancer or anything like that. My research doesn’t make me a monster. I’m just, doing things that other people are afraid to do. I’m hurting people now, but think of all the people I can help when I entirely reform the college of restoration.”

She smiled, but the light the lamps cast brought out the strain of desperation in her face. “Please, Llathise. Let me show you.”

Llathise had backed herself into the shadows of the unlit parts of the hall. “Relmyna, I’m sure what your doing is… very important, but I really don’t want you hurting people anymore.”

“Pain is just the proof that we and our flesh are alive.” Relmyna followed her, matching each slow and careful step. “My work is nothing without pain, or suffering, or death; just like life is. Just like our lives have been.”

“Myna, you’re scaring me.”

Llathise’s plea was tiny and quiet, but it stopped her sister in her tracks. The lamps behind them framed the figure of the Dunmeress with a rim of light. Llathise saw the glint of a knife tucked into the belt of Relmyna’s dress.

Relmyna took one more step forward. “I need you to understand _exactly_ what I’m capable of now.”

Llathise called herself a quickdraw, back in the day. She had a good memory, and could get into the mindset for a concentration spell at a moment’s notice. Her hands were already up to disarm Relmyna with a paralyze spell, but the blade found its way to her first.

Relmyna felt every muscle in her arm freeze for a few crucial seconds, stuck holding the knife in Llathise’s neck. Breaking out of the spell was painful, but the life ebbing back into her nerves gave her a rush of much-needed adrenaline. Llathise crumpled to the floor before her, her fall broken by Relmyna cradling her in her other arm. As her vision darkened, she felt the knife slide out of her neck.

 

“ _One Almalexia_ ,”

First, Relmyna sealed the wound, knowing full well which arteries had to be repaired first. As a wound, it was small, but vital in its placement.

“ _Two Almalexia_ ,”

The heart was shot through with a shock, and manually pumped rapidly, racing to pump blood through empty veins. The veins in Llathise’s neck darkened as Relmyna sent oxygen back to her brain.

“ _Three Almalexia_ ,”

She turned her sister onto her side in her arms, and tried to clear her airways. Llathise’s chest rose and fell, her lungs expanding and contracting as air was pumped through them by Relmyna’s direction.

“ ** _Four,_** ”

Llathise gasped on her own, her first breath cut short from coughing up a thick clot of blood. She started hyperventilating immediately. Relmyna held her close, feeling the inner workings of her sister’s body race to catch back up. Despite the physiological shock that was to be expected from an immediate resurrection, everything was in order. Relmyna chuckled softly to herself, silently congratulating herself on a perfect execution of her spell, in record time no less.

“Do you understand now, sister?”

Llathise stared into nothing, eyes beginning to focus again as she still processed the sensation of tasting the steel of the knife in the back of her throat. Her gaze was drawn towards the dark, wet stains on the floor, which trailed a thick red curtain up her robes and onto her hands. Her blood. The blood she felt gushing warmly down her neck. The meat inside her Relmyna opened up to the world, now replaced by a mere sore spot of unmarred flesh. She was just butchered, like a scrib.

Relmyna cradled her sister awkwardly as Llathise went limp in a faint. She _really_ needed to work on reducing the hit to a subject’s consciousness from these spells.


	8. [eye trauma(brief)]

Relmyna carried the limp but breathing body of her sister to the cold room she used for her experiments before relocating outside of town. It was fairly secure, out of the way enough that it was hard to hear anything from it upstairs, and vice versa. She considered gagging Llathise just in case, but, perhaps that would be a bit too far. This wasn’t a test subject; this was a _guest_. This was someone she, for the first time, wanted more than anything to protect from harm. Especially from Relmyna herself.

Llathise came to on a small, shabby cot; feeling numb, dizzy and strangely exhausted. The first thing that hit her was the smell; rotten blood and meat still hung heavily in the cold air, and she could see the stains they left behind everywhere in dark, dry, scrubbed-out splotches. They darkened the wood of the floor, the linens of her bed, the stone of a sturdy stone table… no, an altar. A repurposed, non-denominational altar; now desecrated, from the look of the spots of blood splatter that had dried in neglected corners and missed spots. Finally, her eyes fell upon Relmyna, sitting on another table. Dressed plainly, more like a common housewife than a mages guild member, with short hair dyed brown in a half-hearted attempt to disguise herself. She seemed a little gaunter, a little more tired, and now she couldn’t deny the unsettling quality in Relmyna’s placid gaze.

The two sisters stared at each other for a heavy, silent moment. The pregnant pause broke when Llathise looked down her front, and saw her robes were stripped, showing her only minimally-bloodied townclothes underneath.

“I’ll wash your robes later, I hope you don’t mind,” Relmyna acknowledged the puzzled look on her face. “Sorry for all the mess. Normally I’m bending su- __people__ over  a bucket to sever their jugular. You know…  for easier disposal.”

She seemed almost oblivious of the whole situation, shrugging to herself like she was making small talk about housework. “I’ve gotten used to more controlled execution scenarios in a laboratory setting, but I panicked, I suppose. My mistake.”

Llathise boggled at her. “Your __mistake__ ,”

“I know, I know. I planned to ask you formally if you would like to experience my resurrection compound first hand, after you settled down from the initial shock of the situation.” Relmyna sighed, her posture slumping in self-admonishment. She dug into her apron to produce a folded piece parchment. “I was going to explain to you the spellcrafting involved and the steps it would take to resurrect you. It was going to be a much calmer and more controlled situation, but I… well. I think we both know I can get a little passionate in the heat of the moment.”

She handed the paper over like she was passing a book to Llathise in class. Llathise still gaped at her, the scroll she held not even grabbing her attention as she absentmindedly smoothed it out. She glanced at its contents: hand-written incantation formula, with notes and brainstorming scrawled into the margins with a hasty slant. Reading spellcraft was the last thing on her mind right now, but she noted the downward twitch of the corners of Relmyna’s mouth.

Relmyna squirmed in anticipation at her seat, a hand idly picking at the leather case of tools at her side. Llathise gave a quick read of the process, expecting the conventions of conjuration spellcraft, only to find it was actually a restoration spell. The gestural and verbal components looked far too lengthy to be considered a singular spell; this was a veritable play in three acts. How did she manage to execute all of this before Llathise’s soul entered Aetherius?

No, no; she shouldn’t be humoring her.

“I must have passed out from shock,” Llathise shook her head; thinking too hard about what happened still made her stomach feel sour. She purposefully tried not to look at Relmyna, only to find that the blood stains on the floor weren’t much better.

“What, do you think I’d __half-ass__  this?” Relmyna hissed in response, causing Llathise to recoil in turn.

“I just don’t understand, how you could just… __stab__ me like it was nothing,”

“I brought you back, didn’t I?”

 _ _“What if it didn’t work, Relmyna?”__  Llathise’s voice cracked while it raised, looking back at Relmyna with fresh tears running down her face. “How could you be so- so __selfish__  to think you could bring me back and it would exonerate you of all your sins?! Repair our relationship, bring you back into the Guild?!”

She paused to search for some level of understanding in Relmyna’s face, only to find she was too upset to read it. Relmyna herself felt her breath catch in her throat, unable to find words to respond with.

“I’ve, I’ve had practice, before. I thought that maybe if I showed you what it was like, you’d understand why it was so important.”

Relmyna looked and sounded so small, curling in on herself in her seat, looking at her hands to avoid eye contact. She may as well had been talking about being caught breaking a plate in front of an adult. Or perhaps, more realistically, hurting an animal.

She may as well be a child, Llathise thought to herself bitterly; still assessing the stiff and worn out state she was in postmortem. It felt as though every muscle in her body had seized up, and was just now starting to relax - though that may have well been from the mental trauma of the ordeal.

And yet, still, her neck was unmarred. Barely even sore, as time passed. She couldn’t tell exactly where the knife had entered it, even if the sensation and taste of the blade in the back of her throat still lingered with each swallow. A phantom of a fate averted.

“Relmyna,” Llathise’s voice became cautiously deliberate as she brought herself to ask, “Do you really feel nothing when you do things like this?”

Well. “I feel a great many things, but that isn’t important right now.” Relmyna took a moment to read Llathise’s face before continuing.

“If you’re trying to ask whether I enjoyed killing you or not, the obvious answer is no.”

“And what if the resurrection didn’t work?”

Relmyna huffed in offense. “What do you mean, __‘if it didn’t work’__? of course it was going to work; did you really think I’d try an untested spell on you? I’ll have you know I’ve been refining that formula for well over a month now.”

Curious. Llathise’s thoughts temporarily skirted the idea of how she’d be less horrified and more impressed if Relmyna’s test subject had been literally anyone else. Between the harsh and emotionally-charged questions she had, there were more academic ones she wasn’t ready to ask. She shouldn’t be humoring her, she knew.

And yet,

“... How did you do it?” Llathise ventured, softly, after a moment of uncomfortable contemplation of the mystery stains that decorated the room. Relmyna’s face lit up, though more from a shock of nervousness than enthusiasm.

“I suppose you might call it an epithany,” Relmyna shrugged off her nerves, and went back to talking like she was sharing some domestic trick or secret recipe, “I had labored over so much death and so many autopsies that it occurred to me that many factors had to be in play to revive a body.”

Llathise watched Relmyna look at her hands again, pensive as the dawning passion stirred from her musings.

“Do you know just how complicated a mortal body truly is? It really is a machine, more advanced than any Dwemer contraption, and almost too complicated for the mortal mind to decipher . Everything it does is so carefully constructed, so precisely choreographed for our survival that I’m still trying to find the root of what makes us… __alive__.”

“Your formula was quite complicated,” Llathise admitted, “But I __really__ have a hard time believing you could have performed such magic in such a short amount of time.”

“Don’t underestimate me.” Relmyna replied, flatly. “From the moment I drew that blade I was preparing your resurrection. I was timing your pulse, your breath, noting the direction I struck you and the meat I’d be striking in turn. You would not be alive had I not known the breath you needed to keep your brain alive, or the amount of blood that pumps through your neck at any given moment. It’s not __just__  magic, Llathise.”

“I suppose that’s the reason you’ve made such a  body count for yourself.”

“If this is the kind of interrogation I deserve, I’d hate to hear the earful you’d give an actual doctor, sister.” Relmyna slid languidly from her perch on the table, stalking around Llathise in a way that she noted was more like a predatorial senche than the meek student she used to be familiar with.

“Have you come to turn me in, then? Do you still fear me, after all the care I put into explaining the method behind my work?”

“Its hard not to fear the person holding the knife.”

Relmyna laughed, just a little too forcefully, clearly savoring the power she had over her sister. It was quickly becoming infuriating, feeling like a cornered animal.

“Go back to fearing an unfulfilling future, Llathise. Don’t worry about the knives; I know them better than you.”

“I never saw you as a cocky type, ‘Myna; I guess its true that killing goes right to your head.”

“Am I not quiet enough for you to recognize me?” Relmyna sneered. “Do you want me to be a little more timid, just like old times? Do you want to feel like the normal sister again?”

Llathise knew she had to choose her words carefully; Relmyna had gripped the edges of the tool case she held and was repetitiously opening and closing the clasp in an anxious fidget. The younger sister tried not to think about what she kept in there, and what she was most likely to use first.

“I never saw myself as the normal sister,” Llathise’s tone was calm and controlled; a negotiator’s voice. “If anything, __you__ were always the natural talent. You always seemed to know what you wanted out of your studies, but I guess it was… __this__.”

Relmyna took on a more somber expression at that. “It was never that easy. A lot of trial and error got me to where I am now. And what have __you__ been doing?”

“...Me?”

“Yes, you. What have you been doing, sister?” Relmyna took a second to chuckle to herself, a manic glint in her eyes. “Did that old guildmaster die of old age, or did you get a little… __impatient__ somewhere down the line?”

“I would never-!” Llathise reeled back, offended. Relmyna laughed, genuine and terrifying.

“Oh don’t start that with me, it’s not something we’re above; its in our __blood__. Our ancestry; our culture, as Dunmer. We backstab. We take opportunities. We climb to the top. Especially Telvanni.”

In truth, Llathise thought little of her Telvanni roots since her time in the university. Perhaps it was the fiasco with Relmyna that helped her forget it; wanting to distance herself from the madness of the tabloid-driven drama meant having to leave behind everything that connected her to her family, in a way. It wasn’t without her share of pain, but as an adult the severance was less jarring than her relocation as a young girl. It was harder to see herself as Telvanni now, than it was to see herself as a fully-incumbent guild member back in her youth.

“I didn’t… I didn’t kill my old master, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Llathise’s voice cracked as she kept stern eye contact. Seeing Relmyna match it with confidence was… certainly new to her. “But I may have… set some things up to make sure I got something out of this. Th-this job I had, I mean.”

Relmyna looked away from her, pensive but smiling. Her thoughts were more of a mystery to her than they’ve ever been, with this unpredictable change of attitude.

“I don’t think I’m the only one with natural talent here, sister. I always did think your ability with… everyone else was magic in itself.”

“I’m not some master manipulator, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

To Llathise’s relief, Relmyna had set her tools down, back in their place, though them being within her reach to begin with was too close for comfort. Relmyna took a seat next to her younger sister, and it was all that Llathise could do to not flinch away.

“You’re doing better than me at least,” Relmyna’s smile, at close range, looked like it belonged on a different person. The uninhibited quality to her movements and expressions were unlike anything Llathise remembered of her. Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise her that this new, genuine version of Relmyna only came from being left to her own, morbid devices.

“As you can see, my situation here is less than ideal. I’ve had worse, of course, but the sort of work I’m doing requires a more sophisticated laboratory setting than, say, this basement. Or a cabin in the mountains.”

“Wow, being a murderer is hard, I would have never imagined,” Llathise risked a sarcastic jab; a reflexive quip, perhaps from all the time spent with her sardonic lover. She could have melted from relief when Relmyna laughed at it.

“I’ll have you know I’m planning on doing a lot __less__ murdering, as my research continues! Perhaps if __somebody__ didn’t ruin my early career, I wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Do you really think that I-” Llathise was cut off by a dismissive wave of Relmyna’s hand.

“I wasn’t talking about you. No; that incident a few years back was… my own mistake. Needless to say I’ve been more selective of who I choose to ally myself with.” That, was a lie. But Llathise didn’t need to know the profane origins of her magic, of course.

“Someone betrayed you?”

“More like… someone was tired of me wearing a mask. Now, I live as the person I’m __meant__ to be, no matter how little others may understand of that.”

As Llathise observed, she could see what she meant of that. The Relmyna before her now had a smile on her face, confidence in her voice, a better overall ability to interact with others. Even if the change was jarring, even frightening with the fear of being ‘killed’ again breathing down Llathise’s neck, she couldn’t deny it.

It was also becoming apparent why Relmyna invited her here in the first place.

“Why did you send the letter, sister? I’ve been shown your ‘work’, but that can’t be the only reason.”

Sitting beside her, it was easier to tell the nuance of worry momentarily grace Relmyna’s features.

“Is it so wrong to miss the company of my only family?” The elder sister had a defensive tone in her reply, behind a disarming smile. “I can’t just take my research to me to the grave anyways, the world __needs__ this.”

Ah, yes. “So, you want me to be complicit?”

“I want you to understand my intentions with my research, and share that understanding with the wider world.” Relmyna brightened up at her own proposal, looking off into the distance with the smile of a daydreamer. “I could have a laboratory fit for work of this magnitude, ample support and resources available, a modicum of respect that isn’t held back by archaic institutions of ‘morality’… is that not the dream of any scholar?”

She was patient with Llathise, as she could see her sister contemplate her words in silence. She knew better than to expect such a conventional soul as Llathise to accept right away, of course. Even so, she wished she __could__ genuinely count on her support. Not being attacked straight away was promising, so far.

There was a knot in Llathise’s throat. She was cornered, and Relmyna had to have made that purposeful. Was there no escape, other than compliance?

“... I don’t think your research is something the guild will abide by, Relmyna,”

“That’s because the guild is a bunch of cowards and milksops,” Relmyna sneered, “What do I need to do to placate their sensitivities?”

“Well, its… violent. And __risky__. People won’t understand; hell, civilians barely understand the practicality of Daedra summoning! They think we’re cultists doing profane rituals when all we do is sit in the hall and write about local mushrooms all day.” Even Llathise could see the bullshit behind what was ‘good’ and ‘bad’ magic, from a scholarly viewpoint. Even then, Relmyna’s entire repertoire made her want to join the Vigil of Stendarr.

Relmyna smirked gently at her, as if she had found some unnoticed flaw on her sister’s face, making Llathise uneasy once more.

“You seem rather dissatisfied. Are you not master of your own guildhall now? Do you not have the power to push them in a new direction?”

“Really, Relmyna; you have no perception of the politics in play here. If I were to do something so __controversial__ so soon after my advancement, I’d -”

“But you’d consider it.”

Llathise leaned away from the eyes boring into her. She preferred the Relmyna who was allergic to eye contact, in hindsight. "Even if I wanted to, you have no substantial evidence that your research could prove fruitful. This isn’t another mushroom thesis; its something that __lives__ would hang in the balance of.”

Relmyna was quiet for a moment in contemplation; looking neither disappointed with her answer nor satisfied. More fidgeting began, rubbing a fold of her dress between her fingers. When she finally replied, her voice seemed smaller. More in-line with what Llathise was used to.

“So, do you __want__ to see substantial evidence?”

* * *

 

Llathise; bundled up in her traveling coat, face and ears wrapped up against the frigid wind, wondered what horrors would be waiting for her in this wasteland. Relmyna was confidently trudging along, apparently knowing exactly where she was going; even if the heavy snow made everything indistinguishable. Llathise could see how easily you could disappear here, how casually you could be written off as someone a bad night on the roads or a sudden snowstorm took. No wonder Relmyna chose this frozen wasteland as her base of operations.

It was just out of the way enough to be overlooked. Just rundown enough to look like maybe a squatter had stayed there, at best. The snow around the derelict cabin was innocently white, without blood nor signs of any struggles that may had taken place. It was the quintessential serial killer’s lodge, and Relmyna had the key to the front door.

The serial killer herself stopped just at the front steps, and gave Llathise a stern look. “I will warn you now; my current acquisition has been put on ice. When I revive him, there will be some noticeable damage, and it may seem like a lost cause for that very reason, but I assure you: it is exactly the kind of issue I’m working to fix.”

Llathise couldn’t have been paler in this miserable weather. “What __issue__?”

“You’ll see.” Relmyna smiled, adding to the chill in the air.

The rusted padlock fell open from her key. Llathise only just managed to stammer out, “W-wait, how bad is this going to be? Because I’m __much__ worse around blood than I was when we were kids and -”

“Oh, don’t fret; all of the blood is bound to have frozen solid by now. On that note, please watch your step.”

Daylight was the only light inside, peering through the cracks in the boarded up windows and a few unpatched holes in the walls. In the cold, perhaps the stench was dulled. It certainly didn’t matter to Llathise’s unaccustomed nose, making her gag long before the heavily stained floorboards and furniture could effect her stomach. It looked as though a Nordic burial had taken place in what was once possibly a firepit; a wrapped length of what was very obviously a body had been covered with ice chunks, sunken into the ground for safekeeping. Just as Llathise began deny to herself that someone Relmyna killed was under that sheet, Relmyna began to push the ice to the side.

Despite the immediate, gut reaction looking at the man’s face gave her, Llathise noted that he was __indeed__ in impeccably preserved condition. If not frozen in the most terrifying, empty gaze she laid her eyes upon. Relmyna inspected the effects of frost on the corpse’s facial features, tenderly touching the exposed eyeballs. “Dunno how that’s going to thaw out.”

More of the cadaver was uncovered. He was clad in the bloodstained clothes of the common folk, dressed as warmly as any Bruma citizen would. Even though his tunic was ruined, there seemed to be no outward harm done to him. Relmyna’s hands wandered, testing the rigidity of his limbs. Carefully trying to peel them off of the ground they froze to. Unsurprisingly, there seemed to be a lot of menial labor involved in this work.

With some difficulty (and a covertly cast feather enchantment) Relmyna laid the subject on a table that had seen better days. She turned to her pale and frigid audience like a teacher making a educational demonstration.

“As you can see, the cold climate serves well to preserve bodies, but its not without its issues. If they don’t thaw thoroughly enough, they’ll be un-revivable. Observe;”

Small bowls where placed on the body; one on the solar plexus, one at the navel, and one placed square on the forehead. Relmyna filled each with a handful of something from out of a jar. “Natural fire is too unreliable, and only serves to roast the flesh. Magefire, however, if better for maintaining a controlled temperature.”

“You’re just going to thaw him out like a Chorrol ham? Just like that?”

Relmyna rolled her eyes. “Not __just__ like that, Llathise. Organs can only function at a precise temperature, and it took me an __unseemly__ long time to figure that out, I’ll have you know.”

The powder was set alight, and it was indeed magefire; only registering as lukewarm to the touch as Llathise carefully felt the heat radiate from an eerie, blue flame.

“Is this all you do? Kill people in different ways, then figure out how to bring them back?” She asked in thoughtful tone.

Relmyna tried not to scoff. “I don’t __just__ kill people. Sometimes I hurt them, too. Its all in the name of discovery, of course. None of my subjects will be missed, I can assure you.”

Dressed in his pauper rags, the corpse may have only been written off by those above him in life, but Llathise could clearly imagine the kind of family he might have had. The people in his life unable to gather the public’s concern to look for him. No man or mer __truly__ goes on to not be missed, surely.

The cadaver became soft and warm quickly under the controlled magefire. It must have been one of Relmyna’s hedge-wizardry spells; Llathise hasn’t heard of magefire used like this for anything other than baking cakes in a showy manner. Relmyna boldly stuck a finger in the corpse’s limp mouth.

“Seems warm enough on the inside now. Rot will set in quickly now, so we need to hurry.”

It wasn’t as much as a ‘we’ as it was just Relmyna being gawked at by Llathise, but Relmyna seemed to appreciate the audience all the same. The bowls of arcane flame were removed, and replaced by a more curious device than before; a common metronome, fixed with an enchanter’s soulgem mount in a crude manner.

“This was made when I was still figuring out the inner workings that keep us alive,” Relmyna explained with a hint glee in her voice, extending a wire to a tentative Llathise. Gently, she touched the tip of metal to her neck, and the metronome begin ticking furiously.

“Its your heartbeat. Isn’t that fascinating?”

“It’s… certainly something,” Llathise admitted. The ticking matched the hammering of her frightened heart in an eerie synchronicity.

When it was attached to the corpse, the metronome was dead silent. Relmyna rubbed her hands together like an eager child. “This is where it gets fun.”

She laid hands on the body as a priest would to bless it, eyes closed in concentration. Llathise steeled herself, uncertain.

The first jolt made the body quake, and nearly drew a yelp from Llathise. Electricity sparked under Relmyna’s palms for a brief moment. A hand of her closed, a fist raised up as the corpse’s chest followed suit; breath being sucked in through the slack mouth with a nasty sound. The muscles of the cadaver twitched of their own accord, bringing the illusion of life within them, but Llathise knew that shock spells would do that to a dead body easily. Was this a charlatan’s trick all along?

The metronome ticked in an irregular way, with the beat increasing with each jolt to the torso. The air in its windpipe made a sound not unlike a gasp of shock and horror. Its eyes, to Llathise’s terror, had burst from the initial jolts; bleeding jelly-like insides down the sides of the head. Relmyna, of course, paid little heed to that. The metronome began to settle down into a regular, though frenzied, heartbeat.

Relmyna laughed in triumph, exhilaration clear on her face. The corpse began to breathe in ragged, uneven gulps of air on its own, peaceful in a way for the first moments of its new life.

Then, it began to scream.

Llathise cupped her hands to her ears. The racket was awful; a horrid, directionless moaning, vocalizing indescribable pain, terror, and misery. It was mournful, almost lamenting its state, writhing with no coordination before its killer and resurrector. Relmyna’s joy fell flat as she observed it in her cold, methodical manner.

“As you can see, resurrection is possible for bodies that have been dead for hours, but the decay starts in the brain. I warned you about this; my research is not without its issues to work out.”

Llathise could only hear the mournful, sobbing wails. This was no zombie; zombies didn’t have the presence of mind to __cry out__ in lament of its unholy existence. They felt no pain, no emotion. The only thing that made this blind, convulsing monster alive was the  residual fear it still felt from its final moments.

As fleeting as those final moments were, its new lease on life was cut short again with a final, anticlimactic knife to the temple. Relmyna regarded it with little conscience. She failed something trivial, just another bump on the road to discovery.

Llathise’s ears still rang. The feeling of the knife no longer in her throat still brushed against every swallow she took. Her hands were shaking, but they weren’t cold. She felt numb to the frozen air. Numb to the freshly dead body in front of her. Numb to the manic glint in Relmyna’s eye, as she locked eyes with her again fearlessly.

“Well? Is this substantial enough for you? Or do we need __another__ demonstration?” Relmyna laughed; it was all a joke to her.

All of this carnage and death was her entertainment, her hobby. And Llathise just stood there and watched; unable to do anything, then or now. What could she do? She couldn’t even tell her ‘ _ _no’__. She could barely gather the courage to come here. She stood there and watched this profane ritual with hardly a word. Nodding dumbly at the madness Relmyna spouted, humoring her and herself. Not a single word towards what her sister __was__ now.

No, she could say one word, in secret. The only trace of it was the fog of her breath when she uttered it, the smallest whisper of “ _ _Monster__.”


End file.
